by Nan O'Berry
“But it wasn’t your fault!” Stone snapped.
“I should have let it go,” Clay scooted to the edge of his bed.
“All because of the fight,” Stone echoed once again.
Clay caught the exchange of looks between Stone and Denver. “Let it drop, Stone. Let it be a lesson to the riders. Never get into a fight. Be brave and walk away.”
Stone shook his head.
“What are you going to do now?” Denver asked.
Clay glanced over to Stone. “I think I’m going to take a ride. Maybe stop and see Ransom.”
He could feel Stone’s gaze on him as he rose. His legs were still wobbly as he grasped the sides of the bunks and got his bearings.
Denver stood. “I can go with you.”
Clay lifted the edge of his mouth. “No, this is something I need to do on my own.”
Carefully, he walked to the washstand and Stone followed, pouring water into the basin for him. With a nod, he cleaned up best he could forgoing the use of soap that would be certain to sting the cuts on his face. “Towel.”
Stone handed him the material.
Clay dried the water from his skin. “Saddle my horse for me, Stone would ya. I’m going to the main house for a moment.”
“Sure.” Stone handed him his hat from the peg by the door.
Clay settled it on his head tilting it so that it gave his bad eye a bit of shade. “Thanks,” he said and with a nod, moved out of the bunk house.
One knock drew Anna to the kitchen door. Her eyes widened at Clay’s ragged appearance. “Momma, Momma! Clay’s here.” She stepped back to allow him to enter.
“Thanks, Anna.” Clay swept the hat from his head and held it between his two hands.
Anna walked over to the table and picked up a package wrapped in paper and tied with a bright yellow ribbon. “I ironed this today for you.” She smoothed her hand over the paper. “It’s so pretty. I am almost jealous.” She held it out for him to take.
Clay grasped it in his hand and gave her a wan smile. “Why thank you, Anna. I really appreciate you washing it and taking such good care of my purchase.”
Levi Hawkins’s daughter seemed to bask in his praise. She walked closer to the doorway. “Momma!”
Footsteps thundered up the hallway.
“Gracious, Anna, I’m right here.” Olivia Hawkins hurried in. Her dark hair wrapped in a scarf. An apron covered her dress and she carried a huge feather duster like a queen carrying a scepter. Spying Clay, she smiled. “You’re up. I’m so glad. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Yes ma’am, I am.”
She put the duster in the seat of one of the kitchen chairs. “Can I fix you some breakfast?” she asked as she pulled the material from her head and draped it over the back of the chair which held the duster.
Clay shook his head. “No ma’am. I just wanted you to know I am going to head out.”
Olivia’s bright smile faltered. “Head out?” she repeated. “Oh, Clay.” Stepping forward she reached out to put a hand upon his arm. “Leaving us? Please tell me it is not over Mr. Hawkins reprimand?”
“Oh, no ma’am. I’m just going out for a few days.”
Her relief was evident. “Good. I’m so glad.”
“I’m going stop over to see Ransom and Delia before riding on.”
“When should I expect you back?”
He shrugged. “Saturday, I guess.”
She gave a nod. “I’ll look forward to your return then. I’m planning a nice dinner on Sunday. I know how much you boys like apple pie. You don’t want to be late for that.”
‘No ma’am.”
“Well, you take care,” Olivia replied.
Clay turned and caught Anna’s glance. “Thanks again, Anna.”
“You’re welcome, Clay.”
Emma let go of the handle for the butter churn and wiped her brow with the back of her forearm. Staring across the horizon, she waited for Stephen to ride back from the road. With a sigh, she grasped the well worn handle and lifted it up pulling the beater through the heavy cream, then sending it back down again. Keeping up the steady rhythm, soon they’d have enough butter to fill the ceramic crock. With the sound of a horse jogging up to the side of the house, she stepped forward to peer around the side of the house.
Stephen’s pony jogged slowly in view. Her brother’s head was down. His shoulders slumped.
Seeing his disappointment, her heart went out to him. “Momma, Stephen is back. I want to walk out to speak to him.”
The front door opened. “Oh, I guess he didn’t see who he wanted to see.”
“No, ma’am.” Emma swept her tongue over her lips. She felt a bit of disappointment herself. She’d hope to hear from Clayton Adams by now.
“You go. I’ll finish the butter in the kitchen. Poor little man,” she clucked.
Stepping down from the porch, Emma called to her little brother, “Hey, Stephen.”
He pulled to a stop and turned his head to look at her. “Hey.”
The lackluster sound of his voice only served to deepen her resolve to make him feel better. “How about I ride with you to the watering hole, so you can go swimming?”
“No thanks.”
Emma paused and watched as he led his pony toward the barn. At that moment, she could have throttled one express rider known to them both. With a firm set to her jaw, Emma placed her hands on her hips and marched toward the barn. “Stephen?” Her eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior.
Her brother pulled the saddle from his mounts back and set it on a hay bale.
She made her way over to the pony and ran her hand over the animal’s velvety nose. “Stephen—”
He cut her off quick, “I do not wish to discuss it.”
“Maybe, maybe there are some problems in Three Rivers.”
“I thought for sure he’d be back this way.” His stricken face gazed back at her.
Emma could detect unshed tears in his eyes.
“It’s been three days, sister,” he cried. “The only folks who have come along have been the ones from the stage company.” He sniffed and wiped his sleeve beneath his nose.
“Well, you are the one who said it takes three days. Maybe they needed one more. Maybe the mail was late from the other end of the run.”
“You think?”
“Sure.” Emma smiled and held out her hand. “Give me a brush.”
Stephen sighed and stepped over to the bucket near the pony’s stall. Reaching in, he grabbed a brush and handed it to Emma.
“Now, get yours.”
Stephen picked up a second brush.
“You take one side and I will take the other. Let’s see who finishes first.”
Starting at the head, the two worked their way down the pony until they reached his rump.
“Done!” Stephen exclaimed grinning in triumph.
“So you are.” Emma laughed, relieved to see her brother smile again.“All right, let’s take this pretty boy out to the pasture. He deserves some sweet grass.”
“Come on, Patches, let’s go.” Stephen tugged on the leather reins of the bridle and with a nicker; the pony began to follow him.
Emma walked to the open barn door and watched him make his way toward the pasture on the other side of the barn. With him leading the pony through the gate, she turned back to where they left the brushes and bent to pick them up. She’d just set them in the wooden bucket when she heard a horse’s footsteps. Thinking it was her brother, she spoke, “So what did you forget?”
“Afternoon, Miss Rawlings.”
Turning, she blinked in surprise. Emma’s heart skipped a beat. Her lips trembled as she pulled them into a smile. “Mr. Adams, I-I didn’t expect to see you.”
Clay smiled. Reaching up with his left hand, he scratched the back of his head. The movement forced the hat to tilt further over one eye. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I should come. I hope you don’t mind.”
She took a quick step forward. “Me? Oh, no. I-I don’t mind at all.”<
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He met her gaze and grinned.
Emma returned the gesture.
They faced one another and stared unabashed until Stephen’s call woke them from their stupor.
“Clay! Clay! You came back.” He rushed toward him causing Spirit to side step.
“Whoa, Spirit,” Clay spoke with such quiet authority that even Stephen came to a halt.
“Easy now.” Clay patted his gelding. “Stephen didn’t mean to startle you.” Clay glanced over at the youngster who stood wide-eyed staring at the horse. “Rule of thumb. Never run up to or behind a horse. They can’t see you from that angle and might think you are trying to harm them.”
“Yes, sir,” Stephen muttered.
“Mind if I step down?” Clay inquired.
“Please,” Emma whispered.
The lanky cowboy stepped down from his horse and dropped to one knee so that he would be eye to eye with her brother. “Would you like to meet my horse?” he asked him.
Stephen’s head bobbled.
Clay turned and tugged on his reins so the horse would turn its head and see the little boy standing there. “Spirit, this is Stephen Rawlings. He’s a friend of ours. Say hello.”
Emma’s hand moved to the second button on her blouse as she watched the horse’s ears twitch forward and extend its nose so that he could sniff Stephen.
“Hello, Spirit,” Stephen said in a quiet voice. Opening his hand palm up, he let the horse sniff, then gently patted his face.
“He likes you.” Clay smiled.
Her brother looked back to Clay. “Can you stay? Stay for supper I mean. My Ma, she’s a good cook. There’s always plenty of food.”
Emma gasped. “Stephen.”
Instead of being alarmed, Clay chuckled. “I think you’d better let your Ma decide if I’m fit to stay for supper.”
“Sure.” Stephen stepped away making sure he didn’t frighten Clay’s horse. Halfway out of the barn, he turned back. “You won’t disappear, will you? I mean you’ll be right here when I get back?”
Clay nodded. “Cross my heart.” He made the sign above the left side of his chest.
With a grin, Emma watched her little brother race toward the house.
“Ma! Ma! Guess who came by!” Stephen called out.
Clay rose and looked over at Emma. “It’s awful good to see you, Miss Emma.”
“It’s good to see you as well, Clay.”
Clay put his napkin down beside his plate. “That was awfully good, Mrs. Rawlings.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Clay. Another cup of coffee?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, I’m satisfied.”
Mrs. Rawlings gave him a smile similar to her daughter’s. “So, what brings you out to the Rocking R?”
Clay looked at the table before answering, “I had a few days off and thought I’d come out to see Miss Emma.”
Mrs. Rawlings glanced at her daughter. “I see.”
There was a momentary silence, before he added another statement, “Besides, I needed to check on the junior express rider.”
Stephen beamed at the mention.
Mrs. Rawlings chuckled. “I know he’s been waiting for you.”
“Can you spend the night, Clay?” Stephen asked. “I got another bed in my room since Drew’s not here.”
“Whoa, hold on there,” Clay began. “I don’t think it would be very proper for me to sleep in your brother’s bed. I know I wouldn’t like some cowpoke sleeping on my sheets.”
“You’re welcome to stay in the bunk house,” Mrs. Rawlings offered. “My husband and the hands are out moving cattle. It’s really a bit late for starting back to Three Rivers.”
He gave a nod. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“Good. Tomorrow, Emma can show you around the ranch.” Mrs. Rawlings stood. “Stephen, chores.”
“Ah, Ma! Do I have to? We have company.”
Mrs. Rawlings began gathering the plates. “Animals don’t wait on company. Off you go. Emma, get the napkins.”
Chairs scooted across the floor as they all rose.
“Let me help.” Clay reached across the table and pulled the plates into a pile.
Rosalyn Rawlings stepped back in surprise. “You don’t have to,” she began.
Clay shook his head. “Least I could do since your housing and feeding me. Besides…” He grinned. “Mrs. Hawkins would never stand for me to sit around and do nothing.”
“Good for her.” Rosalynn smiled. “Just put them in the tub.” She nodded toward the metal tub on the counter.
Clay used the greatest of care to put the plates and saucers down carefully.
Emma followed depositing the knives, forks, and serving bowls.
Her mother slipped her apron over her head. “Emma, you go ahead and collect the eggs. Keep a sharp eye out on Stephen. Make sure he gives all the animals water.”
“Sure, Ma.” She turned and gave shy glance to Clay. “You’ll come?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He waited as she picked up the wooden basket from the back counter. Opening the door, he waited for her to make her way through, then, with his hand to steady her elbow, they walked down the steps to the yard below.
The fading sunlight captured their shadows. Clay noted that Emma kept her eyes focused on the ground as they walked toward the hen house. “Something on your mind?”
She glanced at him. A soft blush tinged her cheeks. “I couldn’t help but notice your eye.”
Clay gave a soft chuckle. “I have to admit it’s pretty hard to miss.”
She smiled, then tilted her head and her expression grew sober. “What happened?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slow and careful. “I sort of got into an altercation.”
Emma arched a brow. “Altercation? It looks more like a fist fight.”
“Oh, it was a fight. Fists were thrown. I just forgot to duck.”
“But why?”
He shrugged. Taking her by the hand, he tugged her toward the barn. “Come with me?”
“But the chickens—”
“They can wait a moment.”
Clay led her to the barn and stopped. Finding his saddle resting against the back wall, he hurried over. “I went in O’Neal’s to get something,” he explained as he flipped open his saddle bags and drew out the bundle. “Here.”
Emma put the basket down and offered him a puzzled expression.
“Open it.”
She dampened her lips and with slow precision, undid the twine then peeled back the paper. He watched the pulse along her neck quicken. Her eyes filled with wonder as she gazed back at him. “Clay…” The rest of the sentence went unspoken.
“I wanted to replace your dress.”
“This—this is gorgeous,” she murmured and with one hand stroked the fabric then brought it back, crushing it to her chest. “You got in a fight over this?”
“Yeah, dumb I guess.”
To his surprise, her eyes filled with tears. “It’s the most heroic thing I have ever heard.”
He blinked. “It is?”
Emma faced him. Her glance darted over to his bad eye. “I’m so sorry.” She lifted a hand and placed it upon his face cradling his cheek.
The edges of his lips twisted upwards. He raised his left hand and covered hers. The warmth from her hand moved down his arm and threaded its warmth around his heart. She cares.
Their eyes met. Emma stepped closer and Clay felt his heart hammer against his ribs.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered.
He gave a shake of his head, then answered, “No.” Staring into her eyes, her sweet blue eyes, he was struck by how clear and sharp the color had become. He watched as she tilted her head, noting the darker blue ring grow wider. Clay swallowed as she rose on her toes. Then to his surprise, she leaned forward. His eyes closed without him thinking and he felt the gentle brush of her lips across the cut of his cheek.
The earth beneath his feet shifted
and as if to prove her power over him, she shifted and administered the same touch of her lips to his other check. Clay found himself trembling as if it were several degrees below freezing.
“Dear, sweet, Clay,” she whispered.
Unable to contain himself, Clay took Emma into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter 7
Sleep remained elusive. The night seemed to tarry way too long for Emma’s taste. She couldn’t wait to see Clay. Last night, for the first time, gathering eggs hadn’t seemed like a chore. Walking back to the house, she showed her mother the fabric and they both exclaimed on its beauty. Clay sat with them until nearly eight then her mother asked her to get him fresh linen and she walked him to the doorway. With a smile, he wished her good night and Emma watched him disappear into the darkness.
She smiled at the ceiling of her room. Clayton Adams. A nice name. A good name. Lord, she could feel her cheeks burn with shame, but in a way, she didn’t mind at all. He had come to her, ridden a good thirty miles to the Rocking R, just to bring her fabric to make a dress. Emma turned on her side and folding her hands stuck them underneath her cheek.
“What kind of dress shall I make?” she wondered aloud.
Closing her eyes, she envisioned something with a heart shaped neckline, cap sleeves, and yellow ribbon accent. She imagined being at the meeting hall in Three Rivers, a band from the army fort playing music that filled the corners of the hall as couples danced. She would be there, with her parents. Then, from across the room, Clay would appear. His gaze, only for her as he made his way through the crowd to be at her side and taking the cup of punch from her hand, he would ask if they could share the next dance. Emma moved her head upon the pillow pretending to accept.
His arm would steal about her waist, as his right hand would take her gloved one. The rest of the dancers would fade away as he would swing her across the floor. Her gaze would be riveted to his deep brown eyes. Their hearts, with each step, would begin to beat as one. As the last notes faded, Clay would lean close and whisper his undying love.
“Yes, that’s the way it will happen,” she whispered. “That’s the way.”
With a yawn, she wiggled down beneath the sheets on her bed and finally drifted to sleep.
