by Jane Shoup
“Am not!”
Mitchell smirked. “It’s not your fault, Henry Joe. Your pa was probably a pussy. It’s all you knew.”
The way Mitchell said it like it was fact was so infuriating that tears sprang to Blue’s eyes.
“Oh, don’t go crying, now,” Mitchell moaned.
“You ought not talk to me that way. It’s not right.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting all worked up about. The whole thing will take me a week. At the most, nine or ten days and then I’ll be back and it’ll be like nothin’s different, ’cept I’ll feel a whole lot better. The only thing that will be different is Emeline Wright will have disappeared off the face of the earth. No trace. No word. My brother can just wonder for the rest of his life.”
Blue scooted his chair back and stood, trembling with fury.
“Where you goin’?” Mitchell asked.
“You can go to hell,” Blue said in a low voice.
“Oh, don’t go being a girl.”
“Screw you. I’m no girl. I’m no pussy.”
“Yeah, whatever you say, Henry Joe.”
Blue knocked his drink over, spilling it on the table, and then walked away.
“Oh, come on, Blue,” Mitchell called behind him.
Blue kept walking. A man could only take so much.
Chapter Forty-One
Doll carried a plate of breakfast over to the house and found Em sitting at the table, her head in her hands. “This is the third morning in a row you didn’t show up for breakfast. What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t feel well,” Em said without looking up.
“I can see that.” She set the plate on the table. “Maybe some food—”
Em moaned.
“When did this start?” Doll asked.
“Just the last few days.”
Doll pursed her lips. “Does it ease up as the day goes on?”
“A little.”
“How long since you bled?”
Em jerked her head up with a gasp.
“Good Lord, honey. You hadn’t even conceived of the notion?” She paused, but Em didn’t move or speak.
Em’s eyes filled. “That I’m . . . pregnant?”
Em was so shocked, Doll didn’t know what to make of it. “Isn’t it good news?”
“If I’m . . . pregnant?”
Doll pulled back a chair and sat. “Why are you so surprised?”
Em shook her head. Since it hadn’t happened with Sonny, something she’d been grateful for, she’d suspected she couldn’t conceive. “How can I know for sure?”
“You just have to wait. If you don’t get your cycle—”
“I did miss it,” Em interrupted as she thought about it. It was the end of May, which meant, “maybe even two.”
Doll grinned. “You didn’t waste any time. That’s for sure.”
Em felt like laughing and crying. “I don’t want to tell Tommy if it might not be true.”
“If you’ve missed two cycles, you’ll begin to show in a month or two.”
Em’s jaw dropped. “I can’t wait a month to tell him.”
“Then tell him. Tell him that I suspect it. Lord, it will make his day!”
He would be so happy. He’d be a father. And she would be a mother. She couldn’t quite envision it.
“Let’s see,” Doll mused. “It’s nearly June and you’ve missed two—” She closed her eyes and counted on her fingers. “It’ll probably be a Christmas baby.”
A baby. A Christmas baby. Em shivered at the strangeness of it.
“Somewhere around then.”
A wave of nausea rose in Em and she clapped her hands over her mouth.
“I’ll fetch you a bowl,” Doll said, rising. “This is part of it, sweetheart,” she said cheerfully as she went to the cupboard. “It’s just part of it.”
Tommy soaked in a tub outside the back door and under the stars, pondering the logistics of building a lavatory that would attach to the house. “An inside outhouse,” he muttered. He grinned, thinking he’d have to share that joke with Wood and the others. Gregory Howerton had an indoor flush toilet and a six-foot tub. It was an intriguing thought.
Tommy climbed out of the tub, dumped the water and dried off. Holding the towel in front of himself, he hurried inside to their room, where Em was reading in bed. “Forgot clean clothes,” he said as he slipped the towel off and got under the covers.
She grinned. “Oh, my.”
“I don’t think anyone saw me.”
“Too bad for them,” she replied mischievously. “Did the bath help your back?”
“No. Just my smell.” His back was sore from bending over all day to transplant the tobacco seedlings. “What are you reading?”
“A new book,” she said, showing him the cover.
The Portrait of a Lady, he read. “Is it good?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m having trouble concentrating. Why don’t you turn over and I’ll rub your back.”
He grinned and turned over, and she put her book aside and straddled him. She began to rub his skin and knead his muscles. “That feels good.”
“How was it with the new help?”
He had to refocus his thoughts. “Malcolm works hard but Edward’s kind of lazy. I don’t know that he’ll last. I don’t know about the other one yet.” He moaned. “There,” he said when she reached a particularly sore spot. “Yeah, right there.”
She used both hands to work the muscle kink. “I feel it.”
“It’s just slow work. Plant by plant.”
“It probably feels like it’ll never get done,” she empathized.
“I learned a long time ago, you just keep at it and it’ll eventually get done.”
She pounded gently on his back with the sides of her hands.
The feeling took him by surprise, but then he relaxed into it. “How’d you learn to do this?” The answer was obvious, although it didn’t dawn on him until after he’d asked. He turned halfway over, lifting her body in the process. “Sorry.”
She leaned forward and kissed him. “Turn back over.”
Instead, he rolled onto his back. “I don’t know,” he said suggestively, lifting his hips and pressing himself against her. “This is a pretty nice position right here.” He suddenly noticed something different about her. “Are you feeling alright?”
She nodded.
He reached up to feel her forehead to see if she was feverish, because her color was high.
“I felt sick this morning,” she said quietly.
“Sick how?”
“Well—” She climbed off.
He started to object and pull her back, but she looked strange, as if she had to admit something. He watched her warily.
“I’ve been feeling ill for the last several days, mostly mornings.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I thought it would pass. But then Doll said something.”
“What?”
“It’s what she asked,” Em said haltingly, blushing hotly.
He was growing worried, because she had something to tell him and it wasn’t good. “Which was?”
“She suggested I might be pregnant.”
For a moment, he couldn’t process the statement. “Pregnant?”
Em nodded.
It sank in and he exhaled so hard he got dizzy. He sat up. “Why does she think so? Do you think so?” he asked, reaching out for her.
She smiled and nodded.
He beamed a smile. “I thought you had bad news. A baby?”
She nodded.
He pulled her into his arms, then immediately relaxed his grip, because he’d been too rough in his excitement. He looked down at her stomach.
“Doll thinks it will be a Christmas baby.”
He looked at her searchingly. It was incredible enough that he had her in his life, but now there would be a child. “Do you ever get scared at how perfect it all is?”
Her smiled faded. “Ye
s,” she admitted.
A second later, he laughed in sheer delight. “A baby! We’re going to have a baby!”
Smiling again, she fell into his arms and they clung to each other.
Chapter Forty-Two
The fields were shaping up nicely in the perfect weather of early June. Wood straightened and wiped his forehead with his sleeve as Tommy walked by him. “Kind of early to call it a day, ain’t it?” he teased.
“I’m going to go check on Em,” Tommy replied.
“You know you got about six or seven more months of this, don’t you?”
“Then the baby will be here,” Hawk joined in. “And he’ll have two of them to fret over.”
Tommy knew he was probably being silly, but he felt a nagging pull of worry. Unwittingly, his gaze raked the landscape to the west, to the area where he’d come upon Briar Lindley spying on Em. Maybe Briar was at it again. Maybe that’s what this feeling was. Because it felt like Em was in danger. He hoped it was only her being sick and him being overprotective. He reached the house and started up the steps.
“Kind of early to call it a day, ain’t it?” Doll called from behind him.
He turned and saw her walking toward him with a teasing grin on her face. He shook his head and went inside. Right away, he saw Em in the parlor. She was in the rocking chair, sitting very still. “Are you okay?” he asked as he got close.
“No,” she replied, hardly moving her mouth.
He fought back a grin. It wasn’t funny that she was sick, but the reason for it was wonderful. And the fact that he was just being overprotective was a relief. This wasn’t danger, it was morning sickness. He squatted in front of her. “Can I do anything?”
“No. You’ve done quite enough.”
He lost his battle and smiled.
So did she, and then she groaned. “Don’t make me laugh. Go away.”
“Alright, I will,” he agreed, standing. “I just had to check on you.” He bent and kissed her head and she groaned again. “Sorry if I made you move there,” he said, backing away.
Doll peered into the parlor as Em rose and made a hasty exit through the back door, her hand pressed to her mouth. “Now, you know this is just a part of it,” Doll lectured. “You need to stop worrying so much.”
He started to agree, only the feeling returned more strongly than before. Frowning heavily, he turned and went into their room for his revolver, a six-shooter.
“What is with you?” Doll called.
“You ever see a man, a dark-haired man in the distance, kind of spying on the place?” he called back.
“No. Who you talking about?” Her eyes widened to see him with the gun. “And why do you have a gun?”
“It’s probably nothing. I’m just worried about Em. That’s all.”
“Honey, she’s pregnant. Her being sick is a part of it. It’ll pass. Trust me when I tell you that she doesn’t feel bad enough that she wants you to shoot her.”
He gave her a look.
“What are you thinking?” she insisted.
He could only shake his head, because how was he supposed to explain a bad feeling?
“You’re being silly!”
“I probably am.”
“Well then, get on with you,” Doll said as she stalked to the front door. “Goodness’ sake. We just all need to be about our business.”
He heard Doll leave and then he listened to the quiet, taking a breath to calm his nerves. Maybe she was right, but the foreboding wasn’t going away. Not to mention that, the last time he’d felt it, he’d been right. Em had been in danger. If he hadn’t heeded the warning, she might not even be here now. He wondered if maybe he shouldn’t just stick close today.
Blue grimaced as a muscle cramped in his leg. He stood, having squatted for too long. He’d spotted Emeline Wright twice this morning, but both times, an older woman had been around. He patted his pockets for reassurance that he was prepared. His fingertips closed in on the small bottle of chloroform he’d taken from a doc at gunpoint before he’d left Roanoke. He was going to use it to incapacitate Emeline Wright, so he could get her back to Mitchell. Of course, first, he’d make Mitchell admit what a feat he’d pulled off. Then he’d get an apology, not to mention a promise of more respect. “Pussy, my ass,” he muttered.
The Martin Farm looked good. He’d seen cattle and horses, and there was both wheat and tobacco growing in the fields. There was an impressive bunkhouse and a new barn. Blue grinned at the thought of rubbing Mitchell’s nose in it, but that would be later. For now, his plan was to sneak up on Em the second he saw her alone. He’d douse a cloth with chloroform and force it over her mouth and nose before she knew what was happening. She’d never even have a chance to scream.
His breath caught as she came out the back door, walking briskly toward the outhouse with her hand pressed to her mouth. He patted his pockets again and then reached for his gun. Not that he’d use it on her. No, siree. He wanted her alive. She was his ticket to respect.
Midway through the yard, she stopped and doubled over.
“Come on, lady,” Blue whispered. “Come on. Keep going.”
As if she heard his wish, she stood back up and continued on. She reached the outhouse, but she didn’t go in. Instead, she reached a hand out and leaned against it.
“Go in, damn you,” he whispered. He’d begun to shake with nerves and anticipation, and the longer she delayed, the more nervous he’d get. Finally, she opened the door and went inside. He looked around to make sure the old woman wasn’t lurking about and then he crept forward. He kept his eyes glued to the outhouse door. Once he reached it, breathing hard, he stuck his gun in his belt and fumbled for the cloth and the bottle of chloroform.
“You okay, honey?” a woman hollered.
Blue flattened himself against the side of the outhouse. Whoever the woman was, she was a damned nuisance.
“Yes,” Em called back a moment later. “But being pregnant is not enjoyable.”
Pregnant? Blue reeled from the newly acquired knowledge. Delivering Miss Wright to Mitchell had been one thing. But Mitchell would kill her, sure as shit, and killing a pregnant woman was just plain wrong. It meant the baby would die, too. Blue shook his head, knowing he couldn’t be a party to that.
Damn it, but he’d made a long ass trip for nothing. He sighed heavily as he stuck the bottle and cloth back into his pocket. On second thought, breathing was a whole lot easier now that the decision was made. Maybe he hadn’t come a long way for nothing; maybe this was his stand. Yeah, that was it. This was his stand. He could have grabbed her, but he’d chosen not to. Because that was the right thing to do. Now, he just needed to get the hell out of here. He peeked around the outhouse and didn’t see the woman who’d yelled. He took his gun back in hand and backed up a step. The getting looked good, so he took off.
“Hey!” a man called.
The voice startled Blue. He whirled back around, saw a gun pointed at him and pulled the trigger.
Tommy, standing in front of him, gasped and dropped to his knees, lowering his gun. A red hole appeared above his eyebrow.
Blue couldn’t breathe. He’d shot Tommy! He jumped as Emeline Wright screamed. He shook his head because he hadn’t meant to do it. Em ran to Tommy and he collapsed into her arms. Another man was running toward them now, shouting at him. Crazed with panic, Blue took off in a dead run.
He made it up the rise, into the thicket and pushed through to where his horse was tied. His knees felt springy as he mounted, but he managed it and took off. Mitchell would have mocked the tears streaming down his face, but he couldn’t stop them. He’d killed Tommy. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d killed Tommy.
Hawk squatted and placed his fingers above Tommy’s mouth and nose. “He’s breathing,” he exclaimed as he squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going for help!”
Em felt so strange, as if everything was suddenly moving in slow motion. It’s because it’s not real, she reasoned. This was a nightmare. It had to be
a nightmare! Or was it the curse? She thought she’d escaped it.
“What’s happening?” Doll cried from the house.
“Tommy’s been shot,” Hawk yelled. “Ring the bell!”
Doll dropped the bowl she was holding and green beans scattered as she turned and ran flat out for the bell. She reached it, panting for breath, and tugged the rope fast and hard.
“I’m going for the doctor,” Hawk yelled to her. He was already on his horse and he was a good rider.
“Stop at Howerton’s,” Doll called back. “He may have someone he can send!”
Hawk gave a cursory nod and spurred his horse on, and Doll kept ringing until she caught sight of the men returning. She pointed frantically. “Tommy,” she cried. “It’s Tommy! Hurry!”
Em was bent over Tommy with her fingers pressed to his forehead, but blood seeped from beneath them.
“Let me see,” Wood said as he bent closer.
She resisted, shaking her head.
“Let me see, honey,” Wood repeated, grabbing hold of her wrist and forcing it back. “Oh, God. What happened?”
Tears streamed down her face. “It was B-blue! His b-brother’s friend. He s-shot him!”
“Let’s get him inside, boys,” Wood called. “We got to get a doctor here and fast!”
“Sam,” Howerton bellowed across the corral.
Sam turned, as did several other men.
“Tommy’s been shot,” Howerton said. “Send some men after the doctor. Find him and get him over there!”
“Yes, sir!”
Howerton never stopped moving. He reached his horse and mounted. “Tell me what happened?” he said as he and Hawk rode out. “You said he was shot in the head, but he’s still alive?”
“Was when I left.”
“I need a damn doctor on staff,” Howerton fumed. “By God, from now on, we’ll have one.”
They didn’t speak all the rest of the way to the farm. They dismounted and rushed inside the house, moving toward the sound of voices in the bedroom. Hawk hung back at the door of Tommy and Em’s bedroom, but Howerton continued in, and everyone moved aside and allowed him close.
