She Shall Be Praised

by Ginny Aiken

  At the same time, she’d read bits and parts that made her think of situations she hadn’t handled well or even sections that brought other people’s actions to mind. Peter seemed to feature prominently in those recollections, especially when she read through the brief collection of thirty-one chapters of Proverbs.

  A few days after the evening she and Peter talked so openly about that dreadful night, her mischievous side stepped up. Later that night, after supper had been cleaned away, after Colley had run off to the barn, and after Ned had taken Pippa for her walk, silence reigned in the cabin. In anticipation of her plans, Emma kept an eye on Peter. When she saw him reach for his Bible, a smile turned up her lips.

  “Time for a bit of Scripture,” he told his son, who’d sat quietly on the floor and played with a pair of wooden railroad cars he loved.

  “I think,” Emma said, surprising father and son, “that it would only be right if I took my turn reading Scripture at night. You are injured and recovering, after all, and it might even help you rest easier. Maybe you’ll sleep sooner, as well.”

  He snorted. “All I do is rest these days. I don’t need any more of that. What I need is a full day’s work to wear me out good.” He eyed her with curiosity then. “But I can’t deny you a chance to read the Word. Go ahead. It should be good to take turns.”

  She fought the urge to grin. “I agree, especially since I’ve become quite fond of the book of Psalms. And I’ve learned a good many bits of sound advice from the book of Proverbs. How about if I start with a Psalm?”

  “Excellent choice.”

  Emma read, filling her words with the best intonation for the particular passage. Before long, Peter seemed to relax, his eyelids lowered a bit, as though he were listening with his attention on his own application of God’s Word. Robby, as usual, fell asleep before more than a couple of verses were read.

  Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Peter Lowery; two could very well read the Word.

  “Now,” she said, “for a Proverb or two.” She quickly flipped pages and came to the passage she’d earlier marked. “ ‘The wise in heart,’ ” she read from the sixteenth chapter, “ ‘will be called discerning, and sweetness of speech increases persuasiveness. Understanding is a fountain of life to him who has it, but…’ ” She slowed for mischievous emphasis. “ ‘But the discipline of fools is folly—’ ”

  Outraged sputtering cut into her words. Emma ignored it.

  She continued. “ ‘The heart of the wise teaches his mouth, and adds persuasiveness to his lips. Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.’ ”

  “I am not a fool—”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, again ignoring his indignation, trying to keep from laughing. Of course, she didn’t think he was a fool, but those lectures straight from his Scripture readings still rankled, and she thought, since he was injured at the moment, a touch of his own medicine might do wonders indeed. “It is late, and I’m so tired. Robby fell asleep right away, didn’t he?”

  She set up the usual ruckus dragging first the spinning wheel to its corner, and then the chair to the table, making it quite impossible to catch Peter’s objection. It was a good thing Robby always seemed to sleep so deeply, or she surely would have woken the child. “I’m sure I’ll do the same, no sooner than my head touches the pillow. It is so quiet and peaceful here at night that I’ve had moments of the most interesting discernment when I retire.” She scooped up Pippa, who’d faithfully followed her every step. “Since getting lost in the woods, I’ve come to deeply appreciate the wonders of a bed and a pillow.”

  Finally, at the door to Colley’s room, she came to a halt in her chatter. “Well, Peter. It has been a long, satisfying day. Goodnight. I hope you sleep well.”

  And she closed the door to the continuing, one-sided debate. Only then did she let herself giggle at what she’d just seen. One very annoyed rancher had been dosed with his own tonic. She wondered what effect it would have by the time the morning dawned. There was only one way to find out.

  Ah, yes… sleep was welcome, indeed. Emma’s daily chores left her tired at the end of the day, tired but satisfied with her efforts.

  She curled up under the fluffy quilt, Pippa at her feet, and closed her eyes. She’d discovered a number of pleasant qualities to the camp. Not the least of which was a decent, upright owner, even if he had an overgrown sense of his own importance at times. She respected Peter a great deal, which only made the last few minutes the more enjoyable for the challenge she’d returned.

  Even though she’d grown to respect and even like Peter, Emma hadn’t been able to shed the discomfort she felt from being observed at all times. Of course, she couldn’t really blame the man. He was stuck in bed; she worked in the cabin. There wasn’t much for him to look at in the space. But understanding his situation didn’t relieve her anxiety. Especially since she suffered his observation as a critical stare. As mild a parry as her Scripture riposte had been, she was glad she’d made the point the night before, as evidenced by his loud objections.

  She didn’t think she could ever find anything to do that might not meet with his objections. It was hard to tackle chores with dread, fearful she’d never live up to his exacting expectations. And she cared. No matter how often she told herself it was foolish to feel that way, she did care what he thought of her.

  Yet another reason to leave.

  The sooner the fall came, the better.

  His judgmental scrutiny was only one of the reasons she’d come to appreciate, if not love, laundry day. Because of the need to hang the clean items to dry, she had every reason to spend time in the lovely outdoors. She no longer found the woods quite as ominous as she had when she’d first wound up lost on the untamed mountain. At least, she didn’t during the daytime. At night, in the shadowy murk, the whoosh of the winds and the unfamiliar sounds still made her scurry as she saw to her needs—and Pippa’s—and then hurry back to the safety of the cabin.

  The horror of Sawyer’s attack in the dark hadn’t faded.

  But this day was sunny, and armed with her basket of clean clothes, she went outside as usual, followed by Robby.

  “Lady Emma! Shall we joust today? What say you?”

  Emma knew the child’s playacting still rankled his father, especially in the close quarters of the cabin. Fortunately, on laundry day they could play outdoors. Peter was still in bed, per Colley’s staunch orders. Emma suspected he could get around if he were to try with the help of a cane, but she wasn’t prepared to argue with the formidable ranch manager, any more than Peter was.

  “As soon as I have the laundry hung on the rope,” she answered.

  Robby’s eyes sparkled even more. He cheered. “I’m going to find us each a good, sturdy lance, then.”

  Emma took little time to hang the clothes, and Robby even less to return with a pair of adequate lance substitutes—leafless branches he had found inside the edge of the woods. If for no other reason, she was thankful for the abundance of “weapons” the forest provided the child.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, as soon as he’d handed her one of the sticks.

  “Of course.”

  The battle was launched. He danced from foot to foot, lunging at her with more enthusiasm than accuracy or grace. Pippa bounced around them, barking. Robby’s cries were matched only by his chortles of glee, and Emma made certain he could land more blows than she did. His pleasure made her heart swell with joy, which made her realize how much he meant to her. She couldn’t understand how his father could deny himself, and the boy, that delight she gained from their games.

  As the thought occurred to her, the man himself appeared in the cabin doorway, as though summoned by her wandering mind. She hadn’t seen him stand since he’d broken his leg. If Colley saw him…

  “Peter!” she yelled. “What are you doing out of bed? Colley hasn’t given permission for you to put weight on that leg yet.”

  His thunderous frown gave her pause. As it registered, she re
membered the stick—the lance—she held aloft. In a gesture as inconspicuous as possible, she lowered it, brought it to her side first, and then slipped it behind her back. Once there, she dropped it, wishing she could persuade herself he hadn’t noticed.

  But he had. And he wasn’t pleased.

  “Robert,” he said in that implacable voice, “have you checked in with Wade or Colley today? Have they told you what chores they need you to do?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw the happiness vanish from Robby’s face. He lowered his gaze to the ground at the same pace he lowered his “lance.”

  “No, sir,” the child said “I meant to go after we were done—”

  “In a ranch,” Peter said, his words clipped and edged with the weariness of frequent repetition, “we work first, play later. Go find out what you need to do, then do it. We’ll have us a long, meaningful talk once you’ve finished.”

  As soon as the boy had gone a few feet away, Pippa trotting along beside him, the rancher turned to Emma. “I do believe I’ve told you not to indulge him with all those fantasies. Why do you insist on going against the one thing I’ve insisted you do? Why must you fight me?”

  She tilted her chin up in the air. “I have yet to fight you, sir. And I have found myself in need of making a choice. My alternatives are few—two, as a matter of fact. The one you prefer would have me stifle all the joy out of that little man of yours. If you’re of a mind to do so, then suit yourself. I will not do that to any youngster, much less such a wonderful, bright, engaging young man.”

  “But I am his father!”

  “Indeed! But not his jailer, I would venture. On the other hand, how about a killjoy? A spoilsport, perhaps?”

  As she spat out the questions, her courage grew, as did her determination. The child needed to be… well, a child at this point in his life. Sure, he could also take care of his share of the chores, but that was, of course, his share, a child’s share.

  Before Peter quit sputtering in indignation, she went on. “Have you lost sight of reason? Have you lost your mind? I would have thought the loss of your wife would have been enough to mourn, but it would appear to me that you’ve decided to lose the love and affection of your son, too. Perhaps his company, as well, if in a few years’ time you haven’t changed your ways.”

  His face turned an alarming shade of red. “You have no right—” As he clearly sought more to say, he stepped outside and marched toward Emma, his steps uneven. “I’ll have you know, I love my son. He can be assured of my affection at all times. I do not agree that to love a child a man must put aside the need to teach him—aaagh!”

  As he stomped up to Emma, he stepped on Robby’s forgotten lance, and the injured leg collapsed. Horrified to see a tall, strong, proud man fall, she flew toward him, arms extended, determined to catch him, break his fall, keep him from further injury.

  While she was much smaller than he, when his bulk struck hers, his momentum halted. She wobbled, unable to fully bear his weight. As she held him for that brief moment, his stunned gaze met hers. Her arms burned with the strain of holding him, but in the end, there was nothing she could have done. She wasn’t tall enough, strong enough, to keep them from toppling over. As she lay on her back staring up, all she saw was the angry brown eyes, the tumbled dark hair, the vast expanse of cloudless blue beyond, and at the edges, the tips of the evergreen branches aimed at the sky.

  Emma fought for breath, but pinned beneath Peter’s larger body she could only gasp, stare… and notice he was doing the same. Only a scant whisper away, she also noticed the gold flecks in his brown eyes. The warmth there reminded her of the night the lamb was born, the night he’d come to her rescue, the night he’d fought to protect her from a monster. The gentle, courageous, decent man she’d witnessed in action seemed to overshadow the outraged father, and her irritation melted away in soft waves of sensation. It would appear his anger toward her vanished as well.

  Before she realized what was about to happen, he let out a rough breath and brought his lips down to hers. Oh, yes. He did have a gentle touch, indeed, and he knew how and when to call it into play. Peter kissed her, tenderly, but with a heated intensity she’d never experienced before. It stole what breath she had left, her strength, all thought of consequences. He deepened the kiss in slow, even measures, and she lost herself in the heady whirl of her senses.

  But it was his tenderness that overrode her reason.

  In that one vivid, emotion-packed moment Emma realized she’d only been a girl until then. She’d played at feelings, at romance, at adulthood, at growing up. It had taken a man to show her how naïve she’d really been.

  It had taken Peter Lowery to kiss her like the woman she’d longed to be.

  Chapter 18

  A corner of his more reasonable mind screamed in self-defense. “No, no!”

  The rest of him, the man enthralled by the woman, sent out a louder roar. “YES!”

  In either case, Peter found himself lost in the sweet tenderness of Emma’s lips. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but when he’d wound up on top of her, those splendid green eyes staring at him, her lips parted, her breath soft against his face, he’d felt as though he’d fallen—yes, fallen—not to the ground but under a spell. A spell the enchanting Emma Crowell, herself, had woven around him.

  He hadn’t been able to help himself, just as he hadn’t been able to help himself when she’d kept herself busy in the cabin. She’d captured every bit of his attention, left him too captivated to resist her appeal.

  Thoughts spun in his head, but they seemed to disappear behind the veil of sensation. Emma’s warmth, her sweet gentleness, her timid response all served to steal his sanity—

  “PETER!”

  The panicked scream barely pierced the haze of his passion. With great reluctance, Peter eased up on the kiss, his eyes focused on hers again. He heard the cry one more time, from somewhere near the cabin.

  “Peter!” Wade called. “Where are you? It’s Robby!”

  At the sound of his son’s name, Emma seemed to awaken as though from a dream, and, hands on his chest, pushed against him. She made a strangled sound in her throat, then wriggled her shoulders, kicked her legs under him. He pulled farther from her tempting lips, splayed his hands flat on either side of her shoulders.

  “Pe-ter!” This time, Wade’s irritation broke through, and Peter reacted. He eased his torso up from hers. “It’s Robby!”

  “I’m here!” he managed to croak out as he tried to gain his feet.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough. That was how his ranch hand found them, with Emma on her back on the ground at the edge of the forest, him on top, his arms framing her, their bodies pressed flat one to the other. Her lips were reddened and puffy, and no one with eyes to see could fail to note she’d just been kissed. Peter’s embarrassment knew no bounds. He imagined hers would be worse.

  To his amazement, she sprang into action. “Get off!” She pushed—again. “What’s wrong with you? It’s about Robby.”

  Wade ran up, and then pulled to a halt. “Oh!” He blushed. “I… ah… didn’t see you, miss. I’m… uh… sorry—”

  “Don’t bother with that!” Emma said.

  Peter scrambled up, Wade’s words finally registering. “What’s this about Robby?”

  The horror in Wade’s eyes struck a matching fear in Peter. “Oh, boss,” his ranch hand said. “I don’t rightly know how it happened, but one moment I seen the boy on the corner of the barn roof, and the next, why… he—he’s falling—”

  “Where?” Emma demanded.

  Wade faced her, and if anything, turned redder still as he waved to the ground where they’d sprawled only moments earlier. “I’m so sorry, ma’am—”

  “Stop!” she cried with a dismissive wave. “Robby. He’s what matters. What happened?”

  “He fell, Miss Emma. Dunno how he got there, but straight off the barn roof…”

  Before Wade had the words out of his mouth, Emma
was already pelting toward the barn. Sudden anxiety and panic struck, and Peter found himself frozen to the ground. And yet… it was the mortification that overwhelmed him. Emma had responded like… well, like the mother the boy no longer had. He, on the other hand, Robby’s father, had acted like a lusty adolescent boy, more intent on and dazed by a pretty girl than focused on the son who counted on him. He’d failed. Again.

  “Well,” he bit off the word, “what are you waiting for, Wade? Let’s go to the boy.”

  Wade’s bewildered expression told Peter more than if the man had complained about his churlish response.

  He sent a panicked prayer heavenward as he jolted himself out of his self-absorption. He started toward the barn. His leg kept his pace maddeningly slow, and he berated himself as he limped along as quickly as he could.

  He hadn’t controlled his feelings, not around Emma, and certainly not now, in the face of his son’s emergency. His sense of inadequacy as a father grew. What kind of man was he? He’d failed to protect the wife of his youth, the mother of his son. Now he’d failed to protect Robby. He’d let his focus stray toward a pretty-faced girl who’d never make a good and proper wife for a rancher like him. Worse yet, he’d acted like little more than an animal, like nothing but an uncivilized man, one who’d surrendered to his baser, physical drives. Was he any better than Sawyer had been?

  Shame and guilt threatened to bring him down like one of the trees around him as he and Wade reached the barn. He thanked God when he saw Emma crouched at Robby’s side, gently touching the boy’s legs, arms, his torso… his head. A scant second later, he let out a guttural groan when he saw the flow of blood on the boy’s forehead.

  He stepped toward them. “Emma… is he—”

  “Oh, Peter…” She shifted toward him. “He… he’s not, but…”

  Tears poured down her cheeks, fear and dread mingled in her expression. She didn’t have to say any more. He understood.