Paper Hearts

by Maureen Child

  "Yeah, but I'm right." Maybelle turned her back on Myrtis then and spoke directly to Emma. Her loud voice drowned out any other arguments and the women quieted to listen. "All right, Emma. Now just mayhap you're right about all this. Could be the men in this town need to learn that every female likes a little romance now and again. Keeps the juices flowin'."

  Emma blushed and the other ladies, except for Priscilla Jeffries, laughed out loud.

  "But," Maybelle shouted, "if we're gonna be dancin' this waltz… don't you think you'd best show us how?"

  "Oh, but, Maybelle" – Emma looked around her helplessly – "I don't have a partner right now."

  "Don't matter none," Maybelle decreed. "You just do your share. Reckon that's all we'll need to know anyhow." Myrtis nodded her agreement. The other ladies mumbled sympathetically and Nell watched Emma with a disconcertingly secretive smile.

  Emma tore her gaze away from the woman and faced Maybelle again. "All right then. I'll show you. But I'll have to hum my own music and it won't look nearly as elegant as it does with a partner."

  "We'll keep that in mind," Maybelle said. "Now. Let's see it, girl."

  Emma moved away from the group and walked to the back of the tiny church. There would have been more room up front, but she refused to perform a solitary waltz at the altar. Deliberately Emma shut them out of her thoughts. She closed her ears and her mind. Instead she pulled up the memory of the valentine's ball she'd attended in Boston the year before. Slowly she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In her mind's eye she was again at the elegant ballroom in Boston. Crystal chandeliers hanging from an ornately painted ceiling shone brightly in the light of thousands of flickering candles. The scent of varied perfumes filled the air and a haunting, delicate melody played by the three violinists in evening attire drifted through the crowded room. In her dream creation a tall man in an exquisitely cut coat stepped up to Emma and held out his arms to her.

  No one had to know that her imaginary partner was J.T. Phillips.

  ###

  J.T. opened the church door slowly. It was awfully quiet in there, he told himself. Maybe he'd already missed the meeting. He stuck his head in and stopped. Humming? His gaze swept the front of the church first. Nell, Myrtis, Maybelle, and Priscilla were all staring at the back of the church, off to his left. He started to speak, but Myrtis held her index finger up to her smiling lips for silence, then pointed.

  He had a notion of just who it was he'd see, but his first sight of Emma surprised him anyway.

  Dressed in a mint-green gown made of some real soft looking material, Emma was waltzing all by herself. Eyes closed, head tilted back with a slight smile on her face, she held her full skirt out to the side in her left hand, and her right she held up as if clutching an invisible partner.

  J.T. moved quietly, his gaze never leaving Emma as she dipped and swayed gracefully in the soft, colored light from the church window. He didn't hear the ladies behind him begin to whisper. He didn't see the exchange of knowing looks and pleased smiles. If he had, it wouldn't have stopped him. Nothing could.

  He stepped up beside Emma and immediately began moving in time with her steps. Gingerly J.T. took her right hand in his left, then slipped his right arm around her narrow waist. Her eyes flew open and her humming stopped. Her feet kept moving though, guided expertly by J.T. Phillips. His deep voice picked up the tune she'd dropped and they whirled in time to the melody.

  ###

  Speaking didn't seem necessary. Emma stared up into his black eyes and, for a moment, lost herself to everything but the magic of the dance. His palm lay flat against the small of her back and she felt the warmth of his touch down to her bones. His left hand held her fingers in a gentle grip, as though he would never let go. He smelled of bay rum and tobacco. His strong jaw was freshly shaven and his full lips were curved into a smile. One lock of his dark hair curled over his forehead.

  He smiled at her. Emma sighed and closed her eyes again. He pulled her closer and her breath caught when his thighs brushed against hers. Desire shot through her as suddenly as a summer thunderstorm. Finally, she thought, his arms were around her, holding her, and she wanted this moment to never end. She'd always known it would be like this. They moved so well together. The top of her head reached to just below his chin. If she got even closer and laid her head on his chest, she would feel his heart beating.

  All those years of dreaming about him and now the moment she'd longed for was here. He held her just the way she'd always imagined he would. He smiled at her as he'd done in her dreams. His touch was as warm as she'd known it would be.

  "Emma?" he whispered.

  She opened her eyes to find his face just a short breath away from her own.

  "Emma," he said again as he guided her in a turn, "I…"

  The church door flew open, sending a bright shaft of afternoon sunlight down the center aisle, illuminating the fascinated faces of the town ladies.

  "Hellfire, boy," Maybelle called out, "close that durned door!"

  Emma and J.T. broke apart, the dance's spell shattered.

  "J.T. in here?" Tommy Adams called out as he closed the door behind him. Then he spotted the sheriff and grinned. "We're waitin' on you, J.T." The ten-year-old's eyes flicked to Emma then back to J.T. "You still gonna play?"

  J.T. seemed to hesitate, glancing from Emma to Tommy and back again.

  "It's all right, J.T.," Emma said softly. She noticed that Tommy was holding a raggedy baseball. "I think the ladies have the idea now anyway. Besides, you don't want to keep the children waiting." She turned away from him and started walking unsteadily toward the front of the church. "Now, if you'll excuse us, the ladies and I still have a lot to do."

  J.T. started forward, then stopped. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure just what. Finally he turned and left the church.

  In the silence Maybelle spoke up. "Well, Emma, honey. You just may be right about this here dance."

  Emma looked over at the older woman.

  Maybelle crossed her arms over her ample bosom and nodded. "Yessir, it looked real pretty. Don't think it'll do the menfolk around here any harm to learn it. What d'you think, Myrt?"

  Myrtis leaned back against the pew, a smile on her face. "I think you're right, Maybelle. A little fancy dancing might not be such a bad idea after all."

  ###

  It didn't seem possible, but just two days later the Valentine's Day party was beginning to take shape. The men would have the floor finished in another day or two, then they would string up the ropes for the hanging lanterns. This year they would be able to dance long after dark.

  "Just set the tables up right over there." Emma pointed to the far side of the almost finished dance floor. As Danny Hanks and Deacon Barnes moved off, carrying the first of the food tables, Emma took a moment to inspect everything.

  Idly she wondered if she shouldn't have hired more than one violinist for the dance. But surely one would be enough. Usually Hollis Hawken played all day long all by himself.

  She glanced over at the older man as he pounded another nail into the dance floor. Emma'd heard that Hollis had been sorely disappointed at not being asked to play this year. But according to Maybelle, he'd get over it. And J.T. was probably right about having a couple of square dances in between the waltzes. Truth to tell, Emma loved the friendly, high-spirited dance as much as everyone else.

  J.T. again. She sighed heavily. No matter how busy she was, her thoughts somehow found a way to get back to J.T. It probably hadn't been a good idea to have him working so closely with her on this dance. It was getting harder to keep from spending time with him. And worse yet she didn't really want to avoid him.

  Hollis dropped his hammer and looked around in disgust.

  Emma's reverie shattered by his cursing, she followed his gaze and saw Maybelle standing at the edge of the meadow, holding up a brand new, black frock coat.

  "Hollis Hawken!" Maybelle shouted again. "You get on over h
ere right this minute and try this on!"

  "I'm busy, woman!" Hollis reached for his fallen hammer.

  "'You think I got nothin' better to do than stand around waitin' on you, old man?" Maybelle tossed the coat over one shoulder and set both hands on her broad hips. "Now, c'mon. Won't take but a minute!"

  Emma bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a smile as Hollis threw his hammer down again and stood up.

  "I do believe you'll look right dandy in that there coat, Hollis." Deacon Barnes didn't bother to hide the chuckle in his voice.

  Hollis tossed him an angry glare as he started toward his wife. "Yeah, well, I hear that Dove Charles has got herself all sorts of plans for you, Deacon."

  Deacon's brow furrowed and his smile disappeared.

  Emma turned away from the snickering men. Her lips curved in a grin as she walked back toward town. Everything was starting to come together beautifully. The women of Buckshot were now solidly behind her plans and the men weren't left much choice in the matter.

  Since their last committee meeting, the ladies had decided that maybe some romance was just what they all needed.

  "Emma!"

  Deacon Barnes shouted at her again. "Emma!"

  Her mind snapped out of her dreamy recollections and returned to the matter at hand. As she crossed the almost completed dance floor, she told herself to stop behaving so ridiculously. After all, she and J.T. had shared no more than a simple dance.

  Hadn't they?

  Chapter Six

  Emma pulled the ribbon tight then tied a lopsided bow. She tossed her braid over her shoulder to hang straight down to the center of her back. Pushing a stray curl off her forehead, she glanced down at her feet and smiled. First time she'd been comfortable since she got back home.

  She wiggled her toes and grinned at the pleasure it brought her. Her well-worn, stained moccasins might not be much to look at, but after two years of feet-pinching shoes, they felt wonderful. Before she'd left for that academy, she'd worn her moccasins almost daily. A slight frown creased her brow as she remembered that it was J.T. who'd made them for her.

  The summer she was sixteen she'd spent most of her days barefoot and had finally picked up a thorn in her heel. It wasn't too long after that that J.T. had presented her with the moccasins.

  Emma shook her head resolutely. Times change. People change. She wasn't the same love-struck little girl any longer. She wasn't wearing the moccasins now as a remembrance of J.T. but because they were far more comfortable than her 'fashionable’ shoes.

  She glanced back at the little hotel behind her. Her father would be up soon and she wanted to be well gone before then. She simply needed a little time to herself. Determinedly Emma straightened her shoulders, lifted the hem of her plain blue calico dress, and started walking toward the woods outside of town.

  Emma stopped halfway up the hill and frowned at the trees on the crest. For some reason she didn't remember it ever taking her this long to get to the top. She started climbing again and tried to forget how she'd wasted the entire day before, searching out Dutch Ingersoll's still. And the day had been made even longer by J.T.'s insisting on going along.

  She shook her head in disgust. It had all been for nothing anyway. When they'd finally located Dutch, the older man had flatly refused their request that he not bring his moonshine to the dance. In fact, he'd been furious at the suggestion. He'd mumbled repeatedly how it was the only real bit of cash money he made all year and he wasn't about to lose it.

  Emma cursed, under her breath and moved even faster. It seemed every man she knew had a head like a rock.

  ###

  J.T. squinted at the hill. Emma. It had to be. Who the hell else would be climbing that blasted hill this early in the morning?

  Suddenly he turned and hurried back inside to get dressed. After the miserable day they'd spent together yesterday, he thought, he wanted to talk to her. And he couldn't very well do it half naked.

  ###

  Emma tripped and fell flat on her face. Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she reached for her right foot and rubbed her bruised toes. She hadn't even seen the blasted tree root she'd caught her foot in. Something crawled across her cheek and she jumped, brushing at her face with both hands.

  A chuckle sounded from close by. Emma turned and saw J.T. grinning like an idiot Wouldn't you know it?

  "What's so blasted funny?" she demanded.

  "You," he answered as he stepped over a fallen tree trunk, then dropped beside her on the ground. "The way you were beatin' at your face like that." J.T. was breathing heavily. He looked like he'd run all the way up that damned hill.

  She dusted her hands together. "There was a bug or something on me."

  "Nope. Just a leaf," he said, and pulled a dried, crackling leaf from her hair, "like this one."

  "Oh." Emma reached up and ran her fingers over the back of her head. "Are there any more?"

  "A few," he said softly. "They look nice."

  Emma rolled her eyes at him. "Get them out, will you, J.T.?"

  He stretched out his hand and gingerly pulled the leaves free. "I remember a time when you didn’t care at all if you had half the forest stickin' up out of your hair."

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. "That was a long time ago."

  "Not so long." he said, leaning back against the tree trunk. His fingers toyed with one of the leaves he'd taken from her. "I notice those moccasins still fit."

  Emma curled her feet up under her and tried to look nonchalant. "Yes, well. I found them this morning in a bag of rags,'" she lied. He didn't need to know that they'd been stored in a box high on a shelf in her bedroom.

  "Uh-huh," he said quietly. "Well, I'm glad they still fit anyway… that’s a pretty dress, Emma."

  She cocked her head and simply stared at him. Since she'd returned from the east, she'd worn a new dress nearly every day. From muslin to silk, each dress was a different color and each had a matching parasol, bag, and shoes. When she was dressed in the height of fashion, he didn't say a word. But, she thought irritably, let her be wearing a threadbare blue calico, covered with leaves and dirt, worn-out moccasins on her feet, and he thinks she looks pretty!

  Shaking her head, Emma turned away and looked down at the town below. "Well," she said firmly, "it’s been nice talkin' to you, J.T."

  "Uh-huh." He didn't stir.

  "What do you want?" She sighed heavily.

  "Nothin' much. Just to talk awhile."

  "I’d rather not," she said, tilting her head back to stare at the cloudless sky. "I came up here to be alone."

  "Me too," J.T. lied. "But we're both here now."

  "J.T." Emma looked away from his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? "J.T., please go back to town."

  "No, Em." He took her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his gaze. "I ain't goin' anywhere."

  Why were his eyes so black? Why did his hair always have to tumble down onto his forehead? Why did his touch have to shoot through her body like lightning? And why, for goodness sake, did he have to smell so good? Despite her best intentions Emma felt herself leaning toward him, drawn to him just as she always had been.

  Then he smiled.

  Abruptly, Emma straightened up and pulled away from him. There wouldn't be any more smiling over Emma Taylor's infatuation with the sheriff if she could help it! She forced herself to recall the sound of Dixie Murdoch’s laughter. Emma remembered, too, crushing the valentine she'd made for J.T. and throwing it into the mud. She remembered the lonely nights in Boston when she was so far from home and she remembered the vow she'd made on her return. Not to make the same mistakes all over again.

  If folks in Buckshot wanted someone to chuckle over, they'd have to find someone besides Emma Taylor. Although the longer she was home, the harder it was to ignore the persistent longing to be with him.

  "Emma." J.T. spoke, startling her.

  She turned to face him and when she di
d, he bent closer suddenly and kissed her. A soft, gentle kiss that seemed to steal her ability to breathe. Helplessly Emma sagged against him and J.T.'s arms closed around her. His fingers pulled the ribbon from her hair and he tangled his hands in the mass of curls.

  Gentleness gave way to desire and his kiss deepened. Her lips parted, and when his tongue slipped inside, Emma moaned softly and slid her hands up his arms until she could lace her fingers behind his neck.

  His hands moved over her body and Emma wriggled closer against him. She heard him groan as though he were in pain.

  Suddenly J.T. tore his mouth free, held her tightly, and rested his chin on the top of her head. Emma struggled for air and listened to J.T.'s ragged breathing. She'd never experienced anything like that before. And for the life of her she couldn't understand why J.T. had stopped.