by Nan O'Berry
Emma rose and hurried to the bucket which held the table scraps. She grabbed the edges of her skirt and began to twist out the excess water. “Sorry.” She paused and wiped her hand beneath her nose.
With a grunt, Rosalynn hurried over to the water pump and filled the coffee pot. “A good cup of coffee will chase away those chills.”
The back door opened once again and both women looked over to see Clay trudge in.
Rosalynn tsked. “You’re no better. Get that jacket off and let it drip over a bucket.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With several tugs, Clay pealed the clinging black jacket, only to find a wooden bucket thrust against his feet. He twisted the fabric first toward him then away. When done, he held it aloft and placed it on the hanger.
Stephen burst through the door with a blanket and spying Clay, his face lit up. “You came back!”
Clay winked. “What, you think she might have killed me?”
Stephen glanced in Emma’s direction, then back to Clay. “Naw, but she might have got you lost out there.”
“Stephen, bring me a blanket, then go get one for Clay.”
Walking over to Emma, he handed his mother the blanket. “I’m glad you are okay, Emma.”
“Thank you, Stephen.” Her smile was punctuated by a sneeze.
“Mercy!” Rosalynn grumped and draped the blanket around her shoulders. “We need to get those wet things off.” She glanced at Clay. “You too, young man. Come over here and sit by the fire. Stephen will bring you a blanket in a moment. Emma, you come with me. Upstairs to change. I’ll grab some of Drew’s clothing for Clay.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Emma gave him an apologetic glance as she rose from the chair and was ushered out by her mother.
“When we get back…” Rosalynn glanced over at Clay. “I’ll make some hot cocoa and you can tell us what you think of the ranch.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Clay nodded.
Rosalynn prodded her daughter out of the room and through the larger living area to the stairs. “Hold those skirts up. I don’t want them dripping against the floorboards.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Emma pushed her bedroom door open.
“Get those things off. Thank heavens; you were in your ridding clothes and not a dress and petticoats. We’ll take them back down stairs and hang them on the porch to drip.”
“Isn’t he handsome, mother?” Emma asked as her fingers worked on the buttons of her blouse.
“Hmm?” Rosalynn answered as she pulled a cotton gown from the dresser and deposited it on the bed.
“Clay, isn’t he handsome?”
Rosalynn blinked. “Oh, I hadn’t given it much thought, Emma. Now, get those things off, inner wear too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Emma grabbed her night dress and slid behind the screen in the corner. Drawing the damp blouse from her skin, she draped it over the top and turned her attention to the buttons at her hip. “He has such warm eyes,” she continued. “They remind me of the earth beneath the summer sun all warm and gentle.”
Rosalynn straightened. “I’m not sure a young man would want to be compared to the dirt.”
Emma glanced at her mother and grinned. “Oh, but with Clay it’s so right.” She shimmied out of the heavy wet material that made up her riding skirt and pulled at the ribbon that held her drawers against her hips. “He wants a ranch, just like Pa. Raising cattle and horses like the one he rides.” She looked over the screen. “He knows a man in Nevada that will give him a colt.”
“Does he now,” Rosalynn murmured, a prick of uneasiness seeped into her soul. “Emma, you know we know little about him.” She walked over and slid a pair of cotton bloomers and camisole over the screen.
“I know he’s from Texas. I know he wants more than to just ride for the express.”
There was a challenge to her words that Rosalynn knew not to broach. “Slip your gown on and grab your robe. I’m going to Drew’s room to get Clay some warm clothes. We’ll go back down together.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rosalynn walked to the door and Emma’s voice stopped her.
“Ma?”
“Yes?” She turned to gaze at her daughter.
“What made you fall in love with Pa?”
Rosalynn’s heart skipped a beat. Her smile trembled as she gazed at her daughter wondering when she’d transformed from a child to a woman. “His kindness,” she whispered. Rosalynn took a deep breath and let it out. “He came to my father’s ranch looking for a job. He was the cockiest, most boastful young man.” She chuckled. “Your grandfather thought him all hat and no manners.”
“And you?” Emma’s question drifted softly across the room.
“I thought he hung the moon,” Rosalynn replied. Glad that the shadows kept her daughter from seeing the blush that charged her cheeks bright red. “When he was thrown from a horse, I nursed him back to health. He used to tease my mother than he had to marry her, so he could have a bowl of her chicken soup every time he felt bad.”
“But, you knew.”
Rosalynn nodded. “I knew from the first smile.” The image of her husband made Rosalynn lose herself in the memory of that day.
Downstairs, Stephen’s laughter echoed up the stairs.
“Pick up those wet clothes, dear. I won’t be long.”
Emma watched her mother disappear from the doorway. Reaching up, she grabbed her dry things and slid them on to her body. After wiggling into her cotton gown, she picked up her wet clothes and moved toward the bedroom door. I knew from the first smile. Yes, she thought, so did I.
“That day back at O’Neal’s when I got my dress caught in the table. I knew that you were the one for me, Clayton Adams.”
With a sigh, she pulled the tan plaid robe over her body and tied the sash. For years, she’d wondered what it would feel like to be in love. Love, it wasn’t quite what the poet’s expressed. It was certainly all warm and explosive, but there was more. It was the anticipation, the uncertainty of whether the feelings were reciprocated. Emma brought her hand up to trace the edges of her lips.
Closing her eyes, she thought about their kiss. It had been brazen, to kiss a man who brought her cloth. But it had also been so heroic to think a man had fought to buy her such a gift. She opened her eyes and turned to look at the material still lying on the paper where she’d placed it on her dresser. “He bought that for me. He thought enough of me to bring it out here. He cares.”
She walked over to where it lay and pulled the twine that once held it closed. Draping the rough string across her hand, she wove it around the fourth finger of her left hand and stared at it. “One day, this will be replaced by a band of gold given by your hand.”
“Emma? You ready?” her mother called.
She quickly put it back down and hurried to pick up the wet clothing she’d deposited in the doorway.
“Don’t forget your comb. We need to get those tangles out of your hair.”
“Yes ma’am.” Swirling, she grabbed the rosewood comb her father carved all those years ago and grabbed up the clothing. “Coming, Ma.”
Clay quickly understood just what kind of impossible force Mrs. Rawlings could be. She’d no sooner showed up in the doorway with Emma, than he had been shooed into the pantry to change.
“Everything. Now Mr. Adams, I won’t have you catching your death a cold on my watch.”
“Yes ma’am,” he murmured, lifting one foot to tug on a soggy sock.
“Drew’s inner wear might be a bit large but it will serve the purpose until we get your things washed and pressed.”
“Yes um.” He tossed the sock on the floor and lifted the other leg.
Getting wet didn’t seem to be so bad. Seeing Emma in that robe with her hair flowing around her shoulders was worth the stinging pellets of rain that lashed them on their wild ride back to the ranch. He dropped the sock and reached for the edges of his shirt whisking it over his head. It fell with a plop and he winced. His mother would never have allowed him inside as wet
as he was. He hated messing up the Rawlings chair and floor. A warm scent slipped beneath the door and tickled his nostrils. Chocolate!
“Hurry Clay, Ma’s making hot chocolate,” Stephen called. “We can’t have any until you’re through.”
With a short laugh, he hurried to unbutton the fly on his trousers and let them slip from his body to pool on the floor. Mrs. Rawlings was right, Drew’s clothing was a size bigger than his own, but it sure felt draft free compared to what he’d been wearing. Sliding the trousers on, he had to slide his belt all the way to the last hole and they still hung precariously against his hip bones. Picking up his wet things, he hurried back into the kitchen. “I’ll put these on the back porch,” he explained as he hurried to the back door.
“There’s some pins left on the line,” Mrs. Rawlings called out.
He paused and watched as she circled her wooden spoon around a sauce pan, pouring a thick rich liquid into a cup that Emma held out. Unable to stop himself, Clay licked his lips in anticipation. “I’ll be right back.”
Emma looked up and smiled.
Clay’s heart turned over and his lungs forgot to breathe. It was a good thing his feet remembered to move. Stepping on to the back porch, he hung his things on the line next to Emma’s. Pausing at her blouse, he lifted it to his nose and breathed in her scent. Clean, fresh, a hint of lemon from scrubbing floors, he filed it in his memory so that he would never forget. One more day here, then he’d have to go back.
Clay glanced at the kitchen. From the back porch, he could look in the window and watch as she held another cup for her mother. The smile on her face was just short of angelic. Her eyes warm and as blue as any summer sky never ceased to thrill him. How? How am I going to leave her?
Riding across the ranch today had felt more than right. It had been perfect. Had they stood still for long, he swore his feet would have set down roots do deep no ax would have been able to dislodge him. Clay swallowed. How different she was from Laura Leigh, the daughter of privilege and wealth.
He had been smitten with her beauty. But he’d learned beauty was only skin deep when ambition lay beneath the good looks. Money, it seemed, required money. He came to know that being a mere rancher was not good enough. His brother’s election to the Texas statehouse changed things between them.
“You must understand Clayton, I feel for you as one would for a brother. My feelings lie deeper for your brother.”
Her sultry voice still stung his heart. He’d released her from her word and hadn’t been surprised that six weeks later, his family had announced their betrothal. He stood quietly and watched them wed. Unwanted, unneeded, and after the falling out with his father, Clay packed his bags and left. But with Emma, things were different. The look in her eyes seemed only for him in ways Laura had lacked. Still, there was a part of him that feared to give his heart once again.
“Clay, you coming?” Emma called.
“Be right there.” Plastering a smile on his face, Clay strode to the door and entered.
“Come. Sit,” Mrs. Rawlings ordered.
Moving to the chair across from Stephen, Clay sat down.
“Here.” She moved the mug to him.
He glanced at the warm brown liquid as the steam rose lazily toward the ceiling and inhaled the scent. “Sure smells good.”
His comment was rewarded with a genuine smile from Emma’s mother. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will.” He wrapped both hands around the white stone ware mug and lifted it towards his mouth.
“Wait!”
Clay blinked at Emma’s word.
“Use a spoon, it’s hot.” She gave him a hasty glance, then, just as quick, looked away. With one finger, she pushed the silver spoon across the table.
He reached for it. For a second’s breath, she didn’t let go. Their gazes connected, the anticipation was nearly unbearable. His glance moved up her arm slow, intentional and he could see the effect by the rapid beat of her heart and the warmth in her eyes.
“So…”
Her mother’s sharp word was like a slap of her hand. Emma drew back so quickly, she nearly upset her mug.
Clay pretended not to notice as he drew the spoon back and placed it into the cup.
“Emma tells me you want to start a ranch.”
Clay nodded as he stirred the contents of his mug. “Yes ma’am. I’m saving money from the express to buy land.”
“You can buy the land next to us,” Stephen piped up. “It’s for sale. I heard Drew talking about it to Father.”
Clay watched Mrs. Rawlings eyes widen. He drew the spoon out and licked it savoring the rich flavor left on the metal. Placing it beside the cup, he spoke to Stephen, “Well now, if Drew said something about it, perhaps he’s got some design on that land. I think I should find my own.”
Stephen appeared crestfallen.
Clay reached out and touched the boy’s shoulder. “But, I’ll look around to see if there’s something close by. I might need a good ranch manager if you’d like to apply.”
The boy grinned.
“Best finish your hot chocolate, Stephen. It’s past your bedtime.”
“Aw Ma,” he groaned.
Clay smiled and lifted his mug to take a sip. The rich chocolate flavor swirled around his mouth and slid smoothly down his throat. He closed his eyes marveling at the splendor of the taste. “This is something special,” he murmured.
Mrs. Rawlings blushed. “Why thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have to stay on and get wet more often if it means a cup of this.”
Emma laughed, as her mother’s blush deepened.
Clay wondered what he’d said that caused the change in both women. The sound of boots on the back porch drew their attention. Clay put down his mug and stood as the door burst open and two figures clothed in wet rain gear came into the room.
“William!” Mrs. Rawlings rose and moved toward her husband.
“Rosalynn,” he greeted her sweeping his hat from his head. “I’m wet.”
“I don’t care.” She moved into his arms.
Clay averted his eyes as their lips blended.
“Pa!” Stephen’s voice cried as he slid from his chair and wrapped his arms about his father’s legs.
William Rawlings broke his kiss to place a hand on his younger son’s shoulder. “Stephen, isn’t it past your bedtime?”
Stephen stepped back and wrinkled his nose. “It’s okay. We’re having hot chocolate cause Emma and Clay got all wet.” He looked down at his clothing. “Now, Ma and I are wet too. Which means everyone gets more hot chocolate.”
Emma’s father shook his head and laughed. “I’m always up for your mother’s hot chocolate.” His glance moved across the room to where Clay stood. “You’re Clay?”
“Yes, sir.” Clay stepped toward the man being helped out of his duster by his wife. “Clayton Adams, sir. I met your daughter at O’Neal’s the other week.”
William Rawlings gave a glance toward his daughter. A questioning glance turned to one of understanding. Extending a hand, he met Clay’s and they shook. “I believe I do remember Emma mentioning meeting someone. Welcome to the Rocking R.”
“Thank you, sir.”
William turned and gestured to the young man behind him. “My other son, Andrew.”
Clay watched the hooded glance Emma’s brother offered him. Drew Rawlings was a good head taller than him. He had the same blue eyes as his sister; however his hair contained a bit more red that seemed to shimmer against the oil lamp light.
“Andrew.” Clay held out his hand.
Emma’s brother studied it for a moment. Just when Clay thought he might knock it away, he reached out and grasped it firmly. “Welcome,” he nodded. His gaze moved toward the clothes that Clay wore. “If you’re going to wear those, you best have a few more of my mother’s meals to fill them out.”
Clay looked down at his middle. “Yep sir, I hope to get another meal or two before I have to leave.”
“Come, sit,” Mrs. Rawlings urged. “It won’t take long to make another pot.”
Gathered around the table, Clay found himself seated next to Emma. He watched the family trade jokes and laughter. This, he told himself, it what a loving family does.
When the tales of moving the cattle died away, Drew turned to him. “So, is that your spotted horse in the barn?”
Clay nodded. “Spirit is an Appaloosa.”
“Heard of them,” Drew remarked and leaned forward. “Are they as surefooted as claimed.”
“They sure are,” Clay responded. “Spirit can run nearly all day without being winded. He’s got a big heart and keeps right up there with the Express’s Morgan’s.”
“I’m partial to Quarter horses. They make good cutting stock.” Drew replied.
“So do Appaloosas. I think it comes from being bred on the range.”
“You like riding for the Express?” Emma’s father asked.
“Yes, sir. It’s a good job. The Hawkins have taken us in like family.”
“Levi and his wife are very good people,” William Rawlings agreed. Lifting his cup, he drained the last of the contents. “I must say, I’m enjoying the company, but morning comes early.”
Clay rose. “I should not have kept you up so long. My apologies.”
“Not your fault, son. Will you be around for a few days?”
“I have to head back on Sunday,” Clay explained.
“Perhaps you will ride out with us tomorrow?”
“I’d be honored.” Clay nodded.
William rose and gazed toward his wife who was holding a sleeping Stephen. “Let me take him, mother.” He walked over and gingerly lifted the sleeping child into his arms.
“Emma, Drew, not too much longer,” Mrs. Rawlings warned as she followed her husband out of the room.
“Yes, Ma,” Emma whispered.
The three sat as the room grew silent.
Drew looked at Clay. “So, you’re interested in my sister?”
Emma’s eyes widened at her brother’s blunt words.
Clay nodded. “She has caught my interest.”
Drew stared down at his empty mug. “Your face.”
“Scuffle in town, I am not a fighter, but I was not about to have your sister’s reputation muddied,” Clay explained.
