A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Had she imagined it? Or did Thatcher, Thatcher Deakon, really pronounce his love to her?

  Her head spun as his eyes looked to her mouth, and she couldn’t help but let her eyelids flutter closed as she felt the touch of his lips against her own. The scruff around his mouth rubbed delightfully against her flesh, and her cold body shivered with delight.

  His mouth moved slowly with her own, and she moved her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. He reacted with pleasure, moving his hands through her wet hair. Emma had never felt so alive! He loved her! She could feel the love and peace he was feeling as he kissed her, and it made the same feelings rise within her own soul. Kissing the man she loved, who loved her in return, was an experience she never thought she would be able to have. And now that it was happening, she could hardly believe it!

  ***

  Thatcher’s breathing increased tenfold as he felt Emma’s soft, wet hair in between his fingertips, her slender hands holding his back. This woman could take total control over him with a single touch! He’d never felt so invigorated, so free. He thought kissing this woman before was amazing, but after realizing his feelings for her, admitting to himself that he deeply loved her, and finally letting go of his fears, it meant so much more.

  He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her petite, feminine form, her own arms sliding around his neck and pulling his face closer. All previous fear of losing Emma was gone, and the anger from Silas Gyver’s advances was lost in his joy. How he lived before, he didn’t know. What he would do if he ever had to leave this woman, he did not know!

  He pressed his mouth firmly against her own, needing to satisfy his desire. He paused for a breath, trailing kisses across her cheek and then moving back up to her lips.

  After a few moments, Thatcher felt Emma’s mouth move against his own. “Thatcher,” she whispered, and he paused, realization coming to him as it always did when she said his name so intimately. Yet, this time was different. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, seeing fear and worry in their blue depths. Well ’course the girl’s worried, he thought, you run away like a yellow belly coward each time she says your name!

  However, neither fear, nor thoughts of Emma becoming like his mother, entered into his heart. No concern filled his mind, and he felt free. He smoothed her hair back as she looked up to him, tears continually spilling from her eyes. “I love you, Thatcher,” she whispered.

  All control was nearly gone at that point as Thatcher enveloped her in his arms and kissed her, Emma returning it with full force and love. How he loved this woman!

  ***

  Emma was breathless as she met Thatcher’s mouth in desire. How wonderful it felt to be so close with him, to be sharing such a wonderful moment together. And not once did he overstep the boundaries of a gentleman, Emma’s heart swelling at the thought. This man loved her so much! And she loved him! She whispered his name once more, thrilled to have him kiss her with more vigor and not pull away with fear and concern. She was so blessed!

  A horse neighing in the distance snapped them both out of their intimate moment, and Emma swung her head in both directions, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Her heart plummeted as she saw Silas Gyver on his horse standing in the river a mere ten feet away, the sound of the raging currents muting out most of the noise except for the horse’s legs nervously jittering in the water. She looked closer, and fear struck her heart. Silas was holding a gun, and it was aimed directly at herself and Thatcher.

  She was unable to speak, but in the next second she felt Thatcher’s hand press firmly against her stomach, knocking her to the ground as he yelled, “Gyver!”

  A shot rang out loud and clear, echoing against the open air. She screamed, covering her ears as she closed her eyes, only to open them seconds later as she heard the loud whinny of Silas’s horse as it reared onto its hind legs. Silas fell from his horse, and Emma gasped as he hit the river with a loud splash, his head landing against a protruding rock. She could already see the great amount of blood in the river caused by Silas’s blow to the head, but before her mind could even register what was happening, she saw him being washed down the rapid river, a motionless body in the icy cold water.

  “Thatcher!” she yelled, pointing to Silas, seeking help, but her head spun as she looked around only to see Thatcher lying face down in the mud.

  “No! Thatcher!” she screamed again, scrambling on her knees and hands to reach him as quickly as she could.

  Pushing his body around, she examined it closely, finding that Silas’s drunken aim had managed to hit Thatcher in his shoulder, blood pouring forth from the wound. A cut on his forehead from landing on his head had knocked him out, and she sent a quick prayer to heaven as she ripped fabric from her petticoat, pressing it firmly against his shoulder. She refused to let fear overtake her sense, and she thought of what she had to do to save the man who had saved her life yet again. “Thatcher, Thatcher!” she said firmly, using her free hand to pat his face.

  His eyes fluttered open, and she held his head still.

  “Thatcher, you need to stand up and get to the horse.”

  She could see the confusion in his eyes as he struggled to regain consciousness, but the pain soon hit him, and he winced.

  “Da—” he paused in his cursing, and Emma would’ve laughed had they been in any other situation. “Dang that man.” He grunted as he sat up, the blood already lost causing his body to weaken.

  “Slowly, now,” she said, speaking gently. She left him for a few seconds as she retrieved his horse that had skittered off a ways from the gun shot, and she then helped Thatcher mount him, using all her might to get the massive man off the ground. He stumbled a few times but was able to mount the large horse with Emma pushing his leg up and around Sweet Tooth’s back.

  As soon as he was on his horse, Thatcher held his hand down for Emma to grab a hold of. She was hesitant about hurting him, but since it was his unharmed arm and she needed to get on the horse, that being the only possible way up, she gripped his hand, and he pulled her up with surprising strength.

  “Go fast, darlin’,” came Thatcher’s slurred voice from behind her. “I ain’t sure how much longer I can hold on.”

  She gripped the reins in her hands and nodded, spurring the horse into a trot. The rain splattered against her face and eyes, but she didn’t care. She needed to get Thatcher to safety.

  The ride took only minutes at the speed they were going, but to Emma it took ages. She arrived at the inn and immediately called out to Seth and Eliza as she opened the front door. They both came running to the front room, shocked to see the mud-covered and soaking wet Emma standing before them.

  “Emma!” Eliza exclaimed. “What on earth happened to you?”

  “We have to hurry,” Emma said, pointing outside with a shaking finger. “Seth, Thatcher’s been shot in the shoulder by Silas Gyver. He’s hangin’ on just barely to the saddle.”

  Without a word, Seth flew outside to help Thatcher. “I’ll go fetch the doctor,” Eliza said, not waiting for Emma to ask.

  Seth and Emma helped Thatcher walk slowly to Emma’s room, the closest one downstairs, and they barely made it in time before Thatcher fell unconscious onto her bed.

  “You said Silas Gyver did this to him?” Seth said, his brows furrowing deeply as Emma nodded. “Where is he?”

  Emma shook her head. “I think…I think he’s dead,” she stuttered, ripping Thatcher’s shirt open, buttons popping off and flying to all sides of the room. She ripped a sleeve of his shirt off slowly, intent on not having Thatcher feel a thing even if he was unconscious. Looking at the blood streaming forth from the wound, she attempted to dab it up with the ripped fabric, pressing the wound firmly. “The shot scared Silas’s horse, and he fell off of it, hitting his head on a rock. I only saw him floatin’ down the river.”

  Seth nodded. “I’ll get some men to go make sure. He ain’t welcome back here if he’s alive,” he said, storming out of the room.
<
br />   “Thatcher,” she whispered once she was alone, seeing his pale face. “Please, please hold on.”

  The blood continued to flow, and Emma realized he was losing too much. What would she do if he…? No. She wasn’t going to think such thoughts.

  Eliza arrived shortly after with the doctor, and Emma assisted him as he dug the bullet out of Thatcher’s flesh. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched his skin become mutilated, but she was grateful that he remained unconscious for it.

  Long minutes later, Doctor Symes had the wound properly cleaned and stitched. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed. “You two sure do get in some awful scrapes,” he said, shaking his head but smiling.

  Emma’s lip quivered. “Is he goin’ to be alright?” she asked in a whisper.

  The kind man looked at her with compassion, causing more tears to come. “He’s goin’ to be just fine, sweet pea,” he said, patting her cheek. “The bullet didn’t hit any bone, so he’ll heal sooner. Now you have to look after yourself for a while.”

  She nodded her head and stared at Thatcher as the doctor gave a few instructions to Eliza before leaving. Thatcher was pale, but his chest gently rising and falling relieved Emma greatly. The thought of losing him scared her far more than she’d ever thought possible.

  Shivering, she realized she was still in her wet clothing from before. “Emma,” Eliza said gently, placing her hands on her arms, “why don’t you go on and get into some warm clothes. Mae’s still sleepin’, so I can sit here for a while to make sure he’s warm while you’re gone, then you can come right back.”

  Emma shook her head. “No, I’m goin’ to stay here. I can’t…I can’t…”

  The words wouldn’t continue, only more tears of shock, pain, and grief, and she could hardly breathe. Eliza walked close to her, saying, “Emma, honey, he’s goin’ to be alright now.”

  She looked to Eliza. “I just…What if somethin’ happened? What if he’s lost too much blood?”

  “He’s fine, Emma,” she continued to reassure her. “Doc Symes says he only needs warmth and rest. He’s alright now.”

  Emma could only shake her head. “Oh, Eliza!” she said, gasping as fear overcame every other emotion inside of her. “I was so scared. I just…I was so scared!”

  Sobs came, and Emma was unable to control herself. Eliza hugged her tightly, Emma returning her embrace and crying quietly into her sister’s shoulder.

  “Can you tell me what happened, Em?” Eliza asked once her sobs had ceased. “Why did Mr. Gyver shoot at him?”

  Emma sniffed, nodding. She told the story with a broken voice, about Silas’s drunken advances, concluding with his body washing down the river, and Eliza listened intently to the entire thing. “It was horrible, Liza,” Emma said, brows furrowed together.

  “Don’t worry, honey,” Eliza said. “Everythin’ is all right now. Thatcher’s goin’ to be just fine.”

  ***

  Hours later, Emma still sat on the chair next to Thatcher, holding his hand, keeping a cool cloth on his head, making sure his blankets were warm, kissing his cheek. She continually prayed he would be alright, and once her worries were settled, her heart was comforted.

  Seth had come back an hour before, telling Emma that he and a few men had found Silas’s body washed up onto a bank three miles downriver. She felt a wave of sadness and relief, knowing then that she wouldn’t have to fear him any longer.

  Emma was also grateful that Eliza had told Seth about what Silas had done so she didn’t have to retell the story again. It was bad enough having it replaying in her mind.

  As it got late, Emma rested her head on Thatcher’s arm, still holding his hand. Intending to rest her eyes for only a few moments, she ended up waking hours later from a strong hand stroking her hair. She sat up and blinked, smiling with relief to see Thatcher’s weak grin and brown eyes. “Hi there, darlin’,” he said with a wince.

  “Thatcher,” she said, tears springing to her eyes once more, “I’m so glad you’re alright!”

  She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. He pulled her close to him, having her sit on the bed as he intertwined his fingers with her own. “I see you finally got changed out of them muddy clothes of yours,” he whispered, rubbing a callused thumb over her fingers, causing goose bumps to run up and down her arm.

  Emma smiled, relieved to see his impish behavior returned. “I figured I should, or I’d be in a worse condition than yourself.”

  He returned her smile, but it quickly faded. “What happened to Silas?” he asked.

  She recounted the story Seth had told her and watched Thatcher’s reaction. He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m glad to hear it. I didn’t want him gettin’ in the way of our weddin’ plans.”

  Emma’s heart flipped. “Beg your pardon?” she said, her voice rising, no longer a whisper.

  “Well, you can’t expect to not be gettin’ hitched, Miss Marchant,” he said, feigning shock. “Not after the way you was sparkin’ with me earlier.”

  She blushed from head to toe as she recalled the memory and the love she felt for him. “I suppose you’re right,” she said with a smile.

  “Suppose?” he asked, his eyes widening. “Naw, that ain’t good enough, darlin’. You can’t just suppose somethin’ like this.”

  He lowered his voice a notch, and Emma saw him wince. She knew he needed to rest more, so she leaned forward, kissing him on his forehead. “Alright, then, Thatcher Deakon,” she said with a grin. “I don’t suppose. I know with all my heart that I want to marry you. And the sooner the better.”

  Chuckling, Thatcher said, “Now that’s what I like to hear. Glad you feel the same as I do.”

  Emma returned his smile and stared into his eyes, still not believing that it was true, that her love, that Thatcher, wanted to marry her.

  “You sleep well, now, darlin’,” he said, drawing her hand up to kiss her palm. “I expect to see you bright and early in the mornin’.”

  She nodded her head, promising he would see her soon, and then left the room, hearing his soft breathing the second she closed the door behind her. Yes, she would most definitely be there first thing come morning. And she could hardly wait.

  ***

  Thatcher listened to Emma walk down the short hallway to her room and breathed deeply, trying to lessen the pain in his shoulder. Soon, however, his thoughts distracted him from the stinging as he focused on Emma. How that woman had grown on him! And how she had changed! Each moment he looked at her, he saw that fire in her eyes. It was no longer smoldered by fear and insecurity, instead glowing brightly with confidence and strength. How amazing it was to be able to see that remarkable change in her.

  He remembered the feel of her lips against his own, of her body pressed closely to his, and his heart threatened to beat forth from his chest. It was a good thing he was in so much pain, otherwise, he wasn’t so sure he could stop himself from walking straight down the hallway and marrying the woman right there! He chuckled softly, imagining the look on her face if he told her that. The pain in his shoulder seemed to lessen, and he soon fell asleep, dreaming of the blushing Emma with her warm blue eyes.

  ***

  “Now quit your coddlin’, Emma,” Thatcher said with a wink, “or I’m goin’ to end up as womanly as you are.”

  Emma playfully swatted him on his arm. “I’m not kiddin’, Thatcher. You need to eat all this ’fore James and Lucy arrive. You need to be lookin’ your best for them.”

  He rolled his eyes as he took a spoonful of the soup. “We ain’t even married yet and you’re actin’ like you’re my wife!”

  Emma’s heart flipped as it always did when he spoke of her as his soon-to-be-wife. How wonderful it would be to have that day finally arrive! “Stop your complainin’, Thatcher,” she said, standing up from the chair in the kitchen. “I’m goin’ to go freshen up, and you best be done with that ’fore I get back.”

  “Alright, alright,” he mumbled, taking another bite. “Goo
d thing this here soup is good.”

  She laughed as she walked out of the room, sending a prayer of thanks heavenward for the quick recovery of Thatcher. It had been only a couple of weeks, and Thatcher was moving around like normal again. Doctor Symes told him he shouldn’t do any heavy work for a while, but within a few months he would be right as rain.

  Since the incident, Thatcher had stayed at the inn, doctor’s orders once more, and neither he nor Emma minded an ounce. They spent each second of each day together, dreading the night when they would have to part, getting up every morning extra early to see each other sooner.

  Days after, they had received a telegram announcing the plans of Lucy and James to come home soon, so Eliza and Emma had taken it upon themselves to clean James’s and Lucy’s house while Thatcher was on bed order. The house was definitely a man’s territory before they got to it, so they were happy to have it presentable for Lucy as a wedding present when she arrived.

  Emma had never been happier, and she smiled to herself as she plaited her hair, tying it off with a blue ribbon. She couldn’t wait to meet Lucy! She’d been dying to see her and James and to tell them their good news.

  After making sure she looked presentable, she rejoined Thatcher, Eliza, Seth, and Mae in the parlor, the excitement of the newly wedded couple’s impending arrival evident in each conversation. They listened through the open window for the sound of the stagecoach approaching, and once they heard it, they rushed outside to greet the couple.

  Thatcher and Emma stayed behind the group, holding hands and walking slower. They followed the boardwalk to where the stagecoach had stopped, everyone waiting impatiently for Lucy and James to appear.

  Emma’s insecurities threatened to plague her mind again as she saw a beautiful blonde-haired woman step out of the stagecoach first, followed soon after by James. However, a squeeze from Thatcher’s hand around her own gave her the confidence she needed to continue.