Trail of Longing (Hot on the Trail Book 3)

by Merry Farmer

  “You sure you want to leave your daughter alone in the wilderness like that?” Pete asked.

  “But she wouldn’t be alone. She would have Dr. Meyers with her,” Mrs. Sutton replied. Emma’s face was bright pink, and even though she kept her eyes lowered, Dean could see the sparkle they held, and the grin she was fighting to conceal. “And, of course, I will stay with them as well.”

  All at once, prickles of wariness raced down Dean’s spine. “You would be willing to part from your husband?” His question was clumsy, but the idea of being stuck in close quarters with Mrs. Sutton dampened his joy at spending that time with Emma.

  “Arthur is a strong man, Dr. Meyers, a clever man. I’m sure he’ll do very well on his own, with Alice to help him.”

  Mr. Sutton snorted, shook his head, and shifted to Emma’s side to help her out of the wagon. Alice handed her sister a bundle as Emma eased to the ground. The argument over who would stay and who would go skipped Dean’s mind when Emma winced as she tried to put weight on her ankle.

  “Let me help.” He rushed forward to take her from her father. He scooped her up into his arms, bringing a wide smile to Mrs. Sutton’s face, which he ignored. “You really shouldn’t put any weight on it at all.”

  “It is feeling better today,” Emma said. She circled her arms around his neck. A weary look lined her face as she glanced over his shoulder at her mother. “We should all stay together or we should all go together,” she told her.

  Dean smiled over her simple, sensible argument. Her mother brushed it off like dust.

  “Nonsense. There isn’t room. Believe me when I say that we would all be much better off with just the two of you—and me as chaperone, of course—and no one else in this minor interlude.” Before anyone could protest, she said, “Arthur, bring me my bag.”

  The argument was over. Mr. Sutton must have already resigned himself to his wife’s will. He fetched her bag—which had somehow been packed before she had seen the size of the way station. Pete and Dean transferred the last of the supplies that the wagon train could spare. Goodbyes were said and plans for reconnecting once they reached Portland were made. When Dean finally turned to take Emma inside the shack, Mrs. Sutton stopped him with a lilting sigh.

  “Yes. Yes, carry her right over the threshold, Dr. Meyers. That’s a sight that warms my heart.”

  Dean exchanged a glance with Emma as he stepped up onto the tiny porch. Her face was bright pink, as charming as it was mortified. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead as if it ached, but Dean suspected the gesture was a way for her to hide her face. Still, he did what her mother wanted him to do and carried her across the threshold and to the bed so that she could sit with her foot up. He left her there with her mother to have a final word with Pete.

  “How long do you think it will be before the next train comes along?” he asked.

  “Plenty of time for you to get on with things.” Pete chuckled and slapped him on the back. He left his hand resting on Dean’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t be more than a week. Two at the most. I know of at least three more trains that were going to start from Independence before July was done, and that’s not even counting the ones leaving from elsewhere that I don’t know about.”

  “Good.” Dean nodded and rubbed his chin as he stared from the wagon train passing him by to the shack. Time alone with Emma would be delightful. Time alone with her mother was another story.

  Pete slapped his back once more. “You’ll invite me to the wedding, I hope,” he murmured so that no one else could hear. “That is, if Mrs. Sutton doesn’t find you a preacher in the next couple of days or decide to perform the ceremony herself.”

  Dean gave him a reluctant grin. “A lot can happen between here and the altar,” he said. “And I wouldn’t say no to a trip in that direction.”

  “Just without your present escort?” Pete guessed. As if to underscore the point, Mrs. Sutton raised her voice in a shout of alarm from inside the shack. “Better go see what that’s all about.”

  Pete thumped his back a final time, then turned to catch up to the last wagons in the train as they passed. Mr. Sutton had taken the driver’s seat of his wagon once more and tapped the oxen to get them moving back in line at the end of the train. As the wagon rattled off, Alice stared out the back of the canvas covering. Dean had never seen anyone look so forlorn. His heart went out to her. It went out to her until he heard Mrs. Sutton scream, “Mouse! It’s a mouse!”

  With a sigh and a shake of his head, Dean turned to make his way into his new home for the next week or so. It would either be the time of his life or the end of him.

  “Mother, please,” Emma protested as her mother tucked blankets around her and kept her from getting up. “I’m not an invalid.”

  They had been at the way station for three days. Each day Emma had tried to argue her way into being allowed to get up and move around. It was agony sitting still on a creaky bed all day with nothing but sewing to keep her busy. The window wasn’t even close enough for her to see more than a postage stamp size bit of prairie through its dirty pane. Her mother and Dean had been in constant motion since they’d arrived, fixing up the shack, preparing food, washing clothes with water carried up from the river about half a mile away. All while Emma was forced to sit and “rest.”

  “You need special care and attention,” her mother insisted. She fluffed the pillow at Emma’s back, then moved on to fluffing Emma’s hair into what she imagined was an attractive style.

  After days of putting up with it, Emma was at her wit’s end. “I need to get up and test my ankle,” she argued. “I need to keep it from getting stiff. Even Dean says so.”

  Three days, and they had all resorted to calling each other by their given names. Emma suspected her mother had a hand in that as well.

  “Perhaps you could have him maneuver it for you,” her mother brightened.

  “Maneuver it?” Emma balked. “Why have him go through the trouble when I could just get up and walk?”

  Her mother waved her off with a, “Psht.” She crossed to the table where their food supplies sat and began sorting through them. “You should give that young man every chance you can to, shall we say, handle you.”

  “Mother,” Emma scolded, eyebrow raised. “We are not at some Five Points brothel.”

  “Heavens.” Her mother straightened from the table and blinked. “I would never suggest such a thing.” But her eyes flashed with mischief.

  Emma heaved a sigh and scooted to the end of the bed. With or without her mother’s consent, she was getting up and moving around. She set her feet carefully on the floor and pushed herself to stand. Her ankle hurt far less than it could have.

  “Emma, what are you doing?” her mother scolded. She tossed aside a small sack of dried beans and marched around the table with a stern frown, reaching out to grasp Emma’s shoulders. “If you do not get back in that bed right this minute, young lady, I’ll—”

  Her threat stopped cold as Dean stepped through the door. He paused in the process of removing his hat, leaving the three of them stock still, staring at each other to see who would move first. Heat crept up Emma’s neck and cheeks.

  “Emma.” Dean smiled and broke the tension. “It’s good to see you up and about.”

  As if Emma had developed a sudden skin condition, her mother yanked her hands back and stepped away. She let out a false and airy laugh and said, “I was just telling her the same thing.”

  Dean or no Dean, Emma’s frustration couldn’t be contained for another moment. She scowled at her mother and muttered, “You would have me spend the rest of my life in that bed in one pursuit or another.”

  A beat too late, she realized she’s spoken her salty thought aloud. Her stomach clenched and she slapped a hand to her mouth.

  Dean blinked. He blinked and then he smiled. His smile spread inch by inch until he had to cough to keep from laughing. “I could think of worse things,” he said in a low voice, so fast Emma wasn’t sure if she’d
heard him right. He took a step closer to her, cleared his throat and said, “It’s about time you started testing your ankle strength. Just be sure not to overdo it.”

  “I… I won’t.” Dear Lord, he must think I’m wicked and a ninny now.

  “I think I’ve fixed the leak on the outhouse roof,” he went on as though nothing were out of the ordinary. “Although we won’t really know until the next time it rains.”

  “Oh.” It was the only thing Emma could come up with to say, and she was certain it made her look simple.

  “I was just about to begin our supper,” her mother said. Emma swallowed a lump of dread. She had that look in her eyes again. “If you say Emma should test her ankle, perhaps she should prepare the meal.”

  It was too good to be true. After days of being confined, she might actually get to do something. She even smiled. “I could do that.”

  “Excellent.” Her mother clapped her hands together and held them to her chest. “I’ll just go out and gather firewood while the two of you get started.”

  Before Emma or Dean could say a word, she darted across the room to the door.

  “We have plenty of wood, Mother,” Emma called after her.

  “And there isn’t any on the prairie,” Dean finished.

  Her mother ignored both of them. She dashed out onto the prairie without even taking her hat.

  Emma gaped at the door for several awkward seconds. If I’m a ninny, it’s a trait I inherited, she thought. She blew out a breath then pressed her lips shut. At last, she glanced warily to Dean. He was trying hard not to laugh outright.

  “I’m so sorry about my mother’s behavior,” Emma began. She had a lot of apologizing to do. “She’s—”

  “A mother,” Dean finished. He let himself laugh out loud.

  The sound poured like cool water over Emma’s heated face. Dean wasn’t going to shake his head and go charging off to escape after all. Giddy with relief, she allowed herself one soft bout of laughter.

  Dean’s shoulders relaxed as he moved to take her elbow and walk her to the table. “She’s not fooling anyone,” he said. “She wants the two of us to come to an understanding.”

  Emma stumbled, but not because of her ankle. Her heart sank in dread. “I… I’m sorry. That’s terrible… she shouldn’t….” She pressed her mouth and eyes shut, then took a deep breath. “She does,” she confessed, opening her eyes. “Mother has been obsessed with seeing me married to a respectable, preferably wealthy, gentleman since Alice… since Alice made her choice.”

  “Perfectly understandable.” Dean nodded as they reached the table. He stood by Emma’s side as she surveyed the food that was available to them. “Any mother worth her salt wants the same, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, well Mother has a dreadful way of going about it.” She arched an eyebrow as she spoke, then put her mind to supper. “Could you light a fire in the stove, please?” she asked Dean.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered with exaggerated formality and set to work.

  They had plenty of wood. Dean managed to stoke the embers that were already in the stove and bring it to a new blaze in no time. It would still take time before it was hot enough for the water to boil, but since Emma didn’t need to cook a meal fit for entertaining the President, it would do. She chopped a few sad-looking vegetables and potatoes, and added them to a pot of water, along with chunks of bacon.

  “How does your ankle feel?” Dean asked when he had done all he could do with the fire. He strode to stand by Emma’s side, leaning against the table.

  She felt his presence as though he had wrapped his arms around her, even though she couldn’t bring herself to look up. “It’s doing surprisingly well. I long to go for a walk, though.”

  Dean shrugged. “Let’s go, then. It will take the stove a while to warm up. Might as well take advantage of the sunshine while we have it.”

  Her heart fluttered to her throat. “I… I’d like that.”

  He held out his elbow, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’ve been wanting to ask you to go on another walk with me ever since that first one,” he said as they started for the door.

  “I’ve hoped you would ask,” she said, startled by her boldness.

  His smile was warmer than the afternoon sunshine that greeted them outside of the shack. Each step they took was slow and Emma limped far more than she wanted to, but Dean was a solid presence. As they stepped around the corner of the shack, she leaned on him more and more. He accepted her weight as though it was second nature to support her, as if they belonged close together.

  Emma glanced up as they turned toward the back of the shack. Her mother was watching them from several yards away. As soon as she was caught spying, she turned her back and marched off across the prairie as though she was on a mission.

  Dean chuckled. “Would it surprise you if I told you I liked her?” he asked.

  “Mother?” Emma replied with far more shock than she intended.

  “Yes,” Dean laughed. “She’s determined, she’s adventurous, and she’s not afraid to take a risk. Just like her daughter.”

  If it was possible, Emma was even more startled. “I am as far from adventurous as a lady can be,” she insisted.

  Dean shook his head. “You are holding your own on the Oregon Trail. I’ve watched you caring for your sister, and even your mother. You got up out of that bed, even though I know your mother didn’t want you to. And here you are, walking alone with a man in broad daylight.”

  She wanted to laugh. He was right, even if his logic was skewed. The thought made her burst into a genuine smile. “I never thought of myself as bold. Not at all.”

  “No?” He stopped after they had turned another corner and stood on the far side of the shack. “You are bold, though.”

  She arched a dubious eyebrow at him.

  “I can prove it,” he went on.

  “How?” she asked.

  He pivoted to stand facing her, sliding his arm around her waist and tugging her close. Without hesitation, he brought his mouth slanting down over hers.

  Too startled to breathe, Emma let him kiss her. His lips were soft and hard at once, insistent and tender together. He teased his tongue against the seam of her lips, pressing her closer. The scent of him filled her, like home and peace. The insistence of his kiss broke through any resistance she could have offered, so she didn’t bother. She wanted more.

  With a sigh, she relaxed into him. She slipped her arms around his waist and spread her hands across his back. Her lips parted where his tongue teased, and she let him invade her. Her tongue met his, sliding and exploring, and she opened herself more deeply to him. His taste was rich and deep and entirely unexpected. She kissed him with her whole heart, as if she knew what she was doing. In her heart, in the deepest part of her soul, she did know. She was letting the man she loved know that she loved him, free of the words she was so helpless at forming.

  After what felt like a long, happy lifetime and no time at all, he leaned back and took a breath. His eyes shone with emotion as he looked into hers, as if he’d discovered a long lost treasure. Her lips were hot and swollen and ready for more.

  “I knew there was more to you than you show the world,” he whispered, a smile growing in his eyes and on his delicious, tempting lips.

  “Is there?” she asked, breathless, her heart racing. She felt as though there might be. There was a whole world waiting to be explored, and it was right there in her arms. She pressed her fingertips into Dean’s back.

  He nodded and leaned into her once more, recapturing her mouth with his. His first kiss had been a dare—gentle, but within limits. This one had no limits. He adjusted his hold on her, molding her against the heat of his body while his mouth ravished hers. It was no simple kiss, but a deep, probing promise of everything else that could be between a man and a woman. One of his hands inched up her side toward the pulsing swell of her breast. Her skin tingled and her body cried out for the forbidden fruit it kne
w was waiting just within her grasp. Her heart leapt to realize that beneath the kind, professional manner Dean presented was a vibrant, unapologetic lover.

  “Oh!” Her mother’s startled exclamation brought Emma crashing back down to earth. “Oh, oh dear.”

  Dean tensed and pulled quickly back, leaving Emma off-balance and light-headed. He cleared his throat and spun to stand by her side where he could still support her. “Mrs. Sutton, I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Oh, no, no.” Her mother waved her hands in front of her, turning her head and closing her eyes. “I didn’t see anything. Please. Please carry on. I’ll just….” She turned and scurried around the back of the shack.

  The heat of passion that had come over Emma thudded into embarrassment. She pressed a hand to her face and breathed out the single word, “Mother.” It was a curse and an explanation and a sigh of futility all at once. She shook her head, then steeled herself to face what she had done and all its consequences. She forced herself to turn and raise her eyes to Dean’s.

  As soon as her mother turned the corner, Dean burst into silent laughter. Emma blinked. She blinked again. Dean shook with mirth, and before she could think of a thing to say, it roared into a bright, cheerful sound. “That wasn’t how I imagined this going,” he said as soon as he could.

  Emma was too stunned to say anything but, “No, it wasn’t.”

  He surprised her by sweeping her into his arms again and kissing her one more time. This kiss had none of the intensity of the first two, but it still left Emma far, far beyond the ability to speak.

  “I don’t think your mother is going to say a word more about this,” he continued to laugh, squeezing her sides where he held her to emphasize his point. “In fact, I predict she will be taking quite a few walks across the prairie until the next wagon train comes along.”

  Emma closed her eyes so Dean wouldn’t see her roll them. “I’m afraid you’re right.”