The Maverick's Bride

by Catherine Palmer

  Mr. Richards finished writing, removed his spectacles and held the slip of paper at arm’s length to read it. “I believe that should do it,” he said.

  “Good.” Adam pronounced the word as God might have when He first observed His creation. “Now send it.”

  Emma glared at him. Stepping over to Mr. Richards, she plucked the message from his fingers and read the words.

  “This will do nicely,” she said. “I shall expect to receive approval for transfer by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

  “But, Mrs. King,” the banker replied, “that is a most unreasonable hope.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. Mr. Fitz-Lloyd is a close friend of my family. I hope to be able to report to him on the fine service this bank provided me.”

  “Mr. Fitz-Lloyd?” Mr. Richards paled. “Do you mean Mr. Fitz-Lloyd who is chairman of the board of directors of the Bank of England?”

  “The very man.” Emma tipped her head. “Good day, Mr. Richards.”

  Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and strode out of the bank. The warmth felt wonderful after the chill inside the bank. Surprised the hour had grown so late, Emma unpinned her hat, lifted it off and marched down the steps. She tossed it onto the carriage seat and climbed in.

  “Find your own way home, Adam King,” she muttered to herself. “Thus far you’ve managed to take care of all my affairs as well as your own.”

  Taking the reins, she flicked them across the horse’s back as she had seen Adam do earlier. The mare shied, then jerked the carriage forward. Before Emma knew what was happening, the horse had started down a narrow alley and was thundering across an old wooden bridge.

  Her heart hammering, Emma realized she had no idea how to control the animal. She let go of the reins and grabbed onto the carriage-top bows. As she did, the vehicle swayed into a wall, knocked off a chunk of plaster, then careened around a corner on two wheels.

  At the sight of the skittish horse, ragged urchins shrieked and scampered into the shelter of arched doorways. Dogs barked from rooftops. Someone threw a stone. The horse whinnied in fear and reared as the pebble struck its flank.

  “Stop!” Emma cried. She let go of the bows and grasped for the reins just as an axle began to crack. The rocking carriage rattled past a long row of houses and out onto the beach, its gyrations growing more pronounced by the second. Every time the carriage swung to one side, the horse bucked, and it was all Emma could do to stay seated.

  Her bone-white fingers grasped the leather reins so tightly that they cut into her palms until she felt a strong hand close over hers.

  “Whoa there, Poker!” Adam leaned from the saddle of Nicholas’s galloping horse to grab the harness and pull the runaway carriage to a creaking halt.

  The vehicle collapsed as the axle snapped, and Emma slid to the beach in a heap. Unable to catch her breath, she lay sprawled across the sand. Aware only of the purple-and-pink sky overhead and the quiet lapping of waves nearby, she wondered if she had died. Then Adam’s face appeared above her, his eyes dark and his hair whipping in the wind.

  “Emma!” The word choked from his lips. “Dear God, don’t let this happen.”

  She coughed as air rushed into her chest.

  “Emma?” Adam lifted her shoulders onto his lap. “Don’t move. Here, let me help you.”

  “Leave me in peace, I beg you.” Pushing him away, she rolled onto her knees and struggled to her feet. “Stay away from me, Adam King. I can take care of myself.”

  She grabbed up her skirts and stumbled away from him toward the waves. She couldn’t need such a man. She didn’t. Adam wasn’t to be trusted, and she had erred in placing so much faith in a stranger. Now he had rescued her again from her blundering attempts to be free of him.

  “Emma?” Adam stepped beside her and took her arm in his. “You could have been killed back there.”

  Her temper flared as she shook him off. “Well, I am not dead, am I? Stop interfering in my affairs. I can manage everything on my own.”

  “You managed to lose control of my horse and send my buggy tearing all over Mombasa town.”

  With a cry of exasperation, she hurried ahead of him down the beach, setting her eyes on a distant line of palm trees silhouetted against the pink sky. But in moments he was beside her again.

  “Emma, be reasonable now.”

  “You are my employee and that is all,” she told him. “I’m paying you to find my sister.”

  “You haven’t paid me a dime yet.” Adam stepped two paces ahead and stopped Emma in her tracks, his strong hands covering her shoulders. “What’s got you so riled up, woman?”

  “You’re after my money, aren’t you?” Emma searched for an answer in his eyes, but the sun had set so swiftly she could see only deep shadows.

  “Emma, for Pete’s sake.” Adam’s hands slid from her shoulders down her arms to her hands. He held them gently, his fingers pressing into her palms and his thumbs running along the slender bones on top.

  “Is that what you think of me?” he asked. “You think I’m a gold-digger?”

  She studied the distant reef. “Why not?” she asked him. “I have a large inheritance.”

  “I know that.”

  “You like money very much.”

  “I like what it can do.” He laced his fingers through hers. “I don’t know a man worth his salt who doesn’t like money. I plan to make my fair share of it and more, if I can, before they plant me in the ground. But not off you.”

  Emma blinked again. A tear threatened, and she tried to lift her hand to brush it away before it could spill over. But Adam held her hands firmly in his.

  “I’ve ruined your Stanhope.” Her voice quavered and she fought to regain her poise. “I shall pay for it, of course.”

  “It’ll need a new axle,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “I’ll send some of my fellows out after it tonight. And the horses.”

  “The horses.” Emma swallowed. She could feel her control wavering again. Her mind warned her against him, but as his lips touched her cheek, she shivered. His hair smelled of sunshine and soap. Thick silky strands brushed her temple. But the sensation was enough to make her draw back, startled.

  “What are you doing?” She pulled away from him. “You must stop it, Adam. I’m paying you. You’re in my employ.”

  “I’m not your servant.” He caught her in his arms. “This feeling between us…I don’t want to let it go. And neither do you.”

  “You’re wrong. I’m perfectly fine without you.” She set her attention on the moonlit waves. “I made my plans, and they do not include a wayward cowboy.”

  “Plans don’t have anything to do with what I’m talking about.” He pulled her closer. “I’m talking about right now…about how beautiful you are.”

  He kissed her cheek again, and she finally understood how impossible it was to deny the attraction between them. Despite every bad thing she had come to believe about this man, despite countless warnings against him, despite the call of God on her life, she could not make her heart reject him.

  Yet she must continue to try.

  “You make every effort to overpower me,” she told him, pulling her hands away. “You barge into my affairs and impose your will on me. I despise that.”

  “Okay, Emma…okay.” He stroked his fingers down her cheek. “This is about your father. I’m nothing like him.”

  “You’re hoping I’ll fail.”

  “Not at all. I submit to your leadership.”

  She shook her head, certain he was mocking her. “We must get back. Where is Seastar?”

  Adam pointed to the nearest row of palm trees, and Emma realized they were just a short stroll from the clearing in front of his verandah. As the sun sank, she set off toward it, her boot heels sinking into the sand with each step.

  “So, what are you going to do now that you’re in charge?” Adam folded his arms across his chest as he strolled beside her. “Do you have a master plan?”

  Emm
a stepped up onto the dark verandah and shook the sand from the hem of her skirt. She felt lost, unsure which direction to take. After waiting so long to experience freedom, she had discovered she was afraid of it.

  “Miss Nightingale,” she blurted out. “She knew the master plan. When I visited her in Mayfair, she told me about the Master’s plan. Nursing requires careful observation, she said, and life demands the same. Just as a nurse must study her patients and be sensitive to their needs, so should a Christian study the Bible and remain constantly receptive to God’s leading.”

  Adam hesitated before joining her on the verandah. “Your Miss Nightingale—she isn’t married, is she?”

  “No.” Emma bristled. “And neither am I, in case you have forgotten our agreement. In singleness of purpose, Miss Nightingale and I are the same. She has no more need of a husband than I do. She is busy enough without a family to engage her time.”

  “Something wrong with children?”

  “Miss Nightingale has other occupations that require her attention. She believes that the primary aim of life is to serve God. To that end, she reads prodigiously and puts her knowledge to use on behalf of those in her charge. She has written more than fifteen books on topics pertaining to medicine and nursing. But I assure you, Miss Nightingale draws no attention to her own achievements. Christ, she told me at tea, is the author of our profession. He is the Great Physician, and prayer provides the means by which we know His will.”

  Emma could just make out the glimmer of blue in Adam’s eyes, but his face—as usual—was a mask. He hid his emotions so very well.

  “What would your Miss Nightingale do about a missing sister, a deceased father, a big inheritance and a man who has his sights set on making her his own?”

  “You refer to Mr. Bond, and I can tell you that I have no intention whatever of allowing him to own me. I came to Africa to find a mission hospital—”

  “I was talking about me,” he cut in. “Emma, I’m that man. What are you going to do about me?”

  She held her breath, almost afraid to exhale. And then without thinking, she took a step toward Adam, wrapped her hands behind his neck and pulled him near. His lips were warm and he hesitated only a moment before drawing her against him.

  “Emma,” he groaned her name. “What are you doing to me, girl?”

  “I’m kissing you,” she whispered, feathering her fingers through his hair. “At the moment, it’s what I want to do. And it’s all I can do.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and crushed the air from her lungs. “Emma, where did you come from? How did you find your way into my heart?”

  He punctuated his words with kisses, grazing his lips across her cheek and nuzzling her ear. She shivered, powerless in his embrace.

  “Adam, please tell me to go away,” she pleaded. “Send me to my room. I’m too tired to think clearly.”

  As she spoke, she felt something press against her shoulder. A small round object. But he was speaking against her ear.

  “I’m not letting you go again,” he murmured. “Emma, I will never send you away.”

  “But don’t you see?” She set her hand over the object in the pocket of his shirt. “You must help me, too. I can’t be strong for both of us, Adam. I need—”

  Her entreaty broke off as she lifted the small golden disk she had discovered. The fading light gave it a hazy glow, and she knew at once what she held. A woman’s locket.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emma dangled the necklace from her fingers.

  Adam stiffened. “Let me have that,” he said, reaching for it.

  Tightening her hold, she pried open the locket. The face of a beautiful woman filled the small oval frame. She had deep-set eyes, curls that hung in ringlets to her shoulders, a full and pouting mouth. She was not smiling.

  Emma snapped the locket shut. Chilled, she pressed the memento into Adam’s hand.

  “Clarissa.” He said the word softly, never taking his eyes from Emma’s. “A woman I knew in America.”

  Emma could only stare at him. Then, very deliberately, she stepped away. Adam had told her he was not married, but Clarissa’s name marked the letter he had torn in Mombasa. She had signed it as his wife.

  Ashamed, Emma had no choice but to admit the truth. She had kissed another woman’s husband. She could blame no one but herself for the pain and humiliation she now felt. Adam belonged to Clarissa and he lacked the strength of character to tell Emma. She had played the fool. Now she must pay the price.

  Adam felt nothing for her but physical attraction. In the presence of that knowledge—in the despair it gave her—Emma knew suddenly, overwhelmingly, that she loved Adam King. She loved him not just a little, but with her whole heart. She loved his smile, his voice, his gentle ways, his intelligent mind, his ambition, even his stubbornness. She loved him and she must never let him know.

  Without looking back, she walked across the verandah toward the door that led into the house.

  “Emma.” Adam’s whispered voice was urgent. “Emma, listen to me.”

  Too late to listen now. She had done too much damage, she admitted as she drifted down the hall and into her room. Numb, she poured water into the basin. The night was hot despite her chilled skin, and she blotted a cool, damp towel over her face.

  Tears of repentance welled in her eyes as she wandered to the window. Why had God allowed Adam into her life? The man had complicated and blurred the certainty of her call. She could only believe that God had put a test before her in order to determine her faithfulness to Him. A test she had failed completely.

  Beyond the verandah, the sea surged and crashed across the shore. Emma closed her eyes, finding peace in the sound of the waves as she confessed her transgressions. She had known about Clarissa from the start. Even so, she allowed Adam to fill her thoughts and take possession of her heart. He had never once said he loved Emma. He never gave anything of himself but his kiss.

  A traitor’s kiss.

  She brushed a tear from her cheek as she recalled Nicholas Bond’s warnings, and she berated herself for failing to heed him.

  The moon had risen fully now, casting a curling ribbon of white over the indigo ocean. On an impulse, Emma raised the window. The sea breeze blew her hair out around her shoulders. Sighing, she rested her head against the cool pane.

  “You all right?” The voice came from the shadows.

  Adam leaned against a verandah post a few paces from Emma’s window. He had waited there, hoping she would emerge. He knew he couldn’t tell Emma about Clarissa, about how he had tried in vain to get her to come to this land. Clarissa was afraid, uncertain. She thought it would be dirty and dangerous. And the people…“Are they all really so very black?” she had asked. No, she didn’t understand at all. She didn’t know Endebelai, Sendeyo and Kiriswa. She probably never would. Maybe he was a fool to think any woman could.

  Then Emma had opened her window. The moon silvered her skin and lit her long hair with a glow that burned in his chest. But seeing the anguish in her eyes, he regretted lingering.

  “I suppose one is allowed errors in judgment now and then.” She spoke in a low voice. “I intended to take the high road. I failed.”

  “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “But you didn’t make a mistake with me tonight.”

  “You love another woman.”

  “There have been women I cared about.”

  He didn’t like to talk about feelings. He had never been able to put his finger on them the way women could. Women were complicated and difficult. He was a simple man.

  Except when he looked at Emma. Then he didn’t feel simple at all. A strangling fear had gripped him when he saw her sprawled on the sand that night. He had begged God to spare her life, and when she had opened her eyes, he had never felt such gratitude.

  Even now, the wave of her hair down her shoulders, the curve of her cheek, made him feel things he couldn’t even name.

  “I do
believe,” she said, “that I have behaved quite foolishly with you.”

  “No, Emma.” Adam started toward her. He needed to say something. “You haven’t been foolish with me, Emma. You’re a woman and I’m a man. What we feel for each other is natural and right.”

  “Natural?” She shook her head. “It might be natural but…”

  “But what?” he asked.

  Without answering she withdrew and shuttered the window. His mind finished the sentence for her…but it is not right…but I don’t need you…but this won’t last forever…but don’t fall in love with me.

  “Roll out there, honey-bunch!” Soapy’s voice reverberated through Emma’s sleep-fogged brain. “Wake up and bite a biscuit!”

  She struggled to her elbows within the cocoon of white bedspread in which she had fallen asleep the night before. Carrying a breakfast tray loaded with food, Miriam entered the room—followed at her heels by Soapy. In silence the woman set the tray beside Emma on the bed and gave a quick little nod, then hurried away.

  “The boss wants you to shake a leg so we can get going,” Soapy told her. “He said to tell you to put on somethin’ simple without all them doodads and fancy fluff, but honest to Pete, I think he—”

  Soapy stopped and scratched his head. “Well, it don’t matter what I think. The boss wants to get to town and fetch your supplies, so’s when the money comes in at the bank we can head out. See, he got a message this mornin’ from the ranch that Tolito—”

  He caught himself again and shook his head. “I ain’t supposed to say nothin’ to you about that.”

  “About Tolito?” Emma sat up fully, her eyes wide.

  “Aw, shucks, ma’am. They ought to hire me to keep the windmills goin’. I can talk the hide off a cow.” His gray eyes clouded and he hung his head for a moment. “The boss said nobody’s supposed to give you no trouble from here on. You’re in charge of the outfit, not him. He told me just to come in here and get you up and goin’ and then back out. And don’t say nothin’ else. ’Specially ’bout Tolito.”