Emma, too, finished her last pod. She scooted to the edge of the cushion, preparing to stand.
“I’ll bring you some paper and a pencil. You can write to her now.”
“I’m not going to write home,” he said.
Emma froze, half-turned toward him. “Why not?”
Because his parents would be shamed to know what he’d been doing, how he’d been making his living. He figured they were better off not knowing, maybe thinking he was dead, than knowing he was a criminal.
Emma’s hand rested on his knee, making him flinch at the unexpected contact. “Did you—was there a falling out?”
“I left on good terms.” Neither Jonas nor Penny had understood why he’d needed to go. They’d asked him to stay. Penny had shed tears.
But he couldn’t stay. Everything about the ranch had chafed after Emma’s desertion. Chores that had given him a sense of pride became meaningless. The plans he’d had for a cabin of his own had turned into ash. He’d dreamed of building a life there with Emma, and without her, he couldn’t stand any of it.
In the end, his parents had let him go.
“Why did you leave?” she asked.
There was no way he was going to admit to her just how heartbroken he’d been. His weakness made him feel like a fool. And she’d left him behind, gone on with her life. She seemed happy.
His heartbreak was for himself alone.
“Leave it alone, Emma,” he said quietly.
He didn’t know how she did it when she couldn’t see him, but she gave him such a searching look that he opened his mouth to promise he’d write the letter.
But then she stood up, turning away, and the moment was broken.
Good thing, because any promise like that would’ve been a lie.
He’d dug his own grave by working for Tolliver. He was going to have to find a way to escape. On his own.
6
Two days later, Emma was walking home from visiting her friend Caroline. When she’d delivered the peas and some carrots from her garden two days ago, Caroline’s infant son had been battling croup. Emma had never heard such a cough—a sound like a barking dog. She’d heard Caroline’s exhaustion in her voice. The woman was a widow and had no family to speak of. Yesterday, Emma had brought her a pot of soup. Today it had been a hearty stew. When Caroline had let Emma in the door, she’d been so overcome that she’d burst into tears.
Emma had ended up staying for the entire afternoon. She’d rocked the baby and told stories to Caroline’s toddlers, a girl and a boy, while her friend had gotten some much-needed rest.
Now she walked quickly, the brisk air telling her that evening was coming on quickly. Daniel had mentioned that he would be working late tonight, but she’d told Seb she was going out for a short while. What if he’d needed something while she was away? She hurried her steps.
Thoughts of Seb weren’t the only thing that had her rushing. An uncomfortable feeling was raising tiny hairs at the base of her scalp. As if she was being watched. She’d felt it yesterday, too.
She was probably imagining it. Since the loss of her sight, she sometimes had the feeling that a customer at the mercantile or the bakery was staring at her, though she couldn’t be sure without asking somebody.
She held her breath and strained her ears to listen. The Smith family was having a boisterous supper. She could hear the children’s chatter from here. A dog was barking, the sound far away. Birds chirped in the big maple on the corner. Those and her footsteps and the tap of her walking stick on the ground were the only sounds she heard. She was the only one on the street right now.
She forced her thoughts from imagined fears. There had to be something else she could do for Caroline. She couldn’t imagine the hardships the widow faced, eking out a living and raising three children on her own.
For a moment, Emma thought about her brother’s words from days ago. A journey like that, on your own…
The memory came to her sometimes in quiet moments. The more she’d thought about Daniel’s words, the more she disagreed.
She was capable enough to travel to Wyoming by train. Or to Philadelphia to visit Breanna. She wasn’t afraid to ask for help if she needed it.
But she hadn’t yet gathered the courage to bring it up to Daniel again. Her brother had been quiet, almost terse with her over the past few days. No doubt he was worried about her being under the same roof as Seb. He needn’t worry. She wasn’t the same frightened girl she’d been when she’d run from Wyoming, and Seb wasn’t the same either. He was harder, somehow. He kept his own counsel, not opening himself to her as he once had.
Whatever love had been between them, it had been a young love, and when she’d left, it had died.
She went up the steps and let herself into the house, settling her cane in the corner out of the way.
Something moved behind her, large and close.
She shrieked and whirled, throwing her hands up in front of her.
“Easy!” Seb’s scent registered before his voice did.
He was close. His big hands clasped her wrists. Her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings trapped behind her breastbone.
Her panic swung wildly into something else, and she gripped his shirt in her fists. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
And then he was folding her into his arms. His strength was as familiar to her even though he felt so very different, layered with muscles as he was. Her nose pressed into the hot skin just above his collar, her cheek into the softness of his shirt. His hands settled at her waist, hot even through her dress, like twin brands.
“You’re trembling,” he said, the words warm against the crown of her head. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I was only startled. You don’t frighten me.” She could never be scared, not of him. Being close to him like this settled her. She breathed in and out. “What are you doing off the sofa?”
“You were gone a long time. And somebody knocked earlier. I didn’t answer it.”
Beneath her cheek, she could hear his heart pounding.
“I got worried.”
And with Daniel’s words in her ears, her own emerged snappish. “I’m perfectly capable of walking down the street and back.”
She felt him shake his head by the movement of his chin. “That’s not it at all.”
She should step back. This closeness was confusing her. Seb’s pounding heart and the frantic rhythm of his breath—as if he cared about what happened to her—played tricks on her mind.
She raised her head from his chest, intending to step back, but he lifted one hand and cupped her cheek.
“Emma, I…” He pressed closer.
She felt the warmth of his breath against her chin, the only warning she had before his lips claimed hers.
This wasn’t a chaste kiss like the ones he’d given her in those few weeks they’d had together.
This was a kiss borne of worry, desperation, maybe even anger. Seb’s lips slanted over hers, and all she could do was cling to his broad shoulders. Hold on to the man she’d never stopped loving.
She met his kiss like a woman who’d been starved of the one thing she craved the most.
As if he’d realized she was pressing closer, not pulling away, his kiss changed. His hand moved from her cheek to her neck, his thumb brushing her jaw. His mouth softened, became teasing.
And then his kiss was gone. He brushed her lips with his once more, a sweet touch that almost felt like an apology.
She was breathing as fast as if she’d run up the street instead of walking.
He put several inches between them, his hands falling away. Her hands fell to his waist. She wasn’t ready to let go of him or this moment. Not yet.
“We shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was rough and low. “Your brother won’t appreciate me taking advantage.”
He said the words. But she wasn’t sure she believed him. Not when he could easily step away from her touch.
“You di
dn’t take advantage.” She’d wanted his kiss—still wanted it. Her head was buzzing with his nearness, with wanting to step into him and do it all over again.
But her bravado seemed to have left her. She lifted her chin, searching for it. “Daniel doesn’t control my life.”
“Doesn’t he?” Seb murmured.
* * *
Seb felt the hitch in Emma’s breath just before she pressed her hand into his side. She didn’t touch his knife wound or his rib, but the pressure was enough to pain both. He stepped back, breaking the connection between them.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She’d lost the softness in her face. He would never forget the way she’d looked up at him just now, her lips pink and bee-stung from his kiss, her eyes shining.
He dragged himself across the front hall and back into the parlor. Worry for her had driven him to watch out the window, waiting for her. He’d been standing for too long and everything hurt. He moved toward the sofa.
She followed him.
“I figured it out,” he said. He’d overheard the subtle way Daniel manipulated her. Like the other morning, when Emma had mentioned warming leftovers for supper, Daniel had mentioned how he’d been looking forward to Emma’s shepherd’s pie. When she’d offered to cook it instead of the leftovers, Daniel had hemmed and hawed and made it seem as if it was her idea to cook that night after all.
That wasn’t the only example, either. Daniel had a way of getting his way with Emma. Seb had realized it must’ve been Daniel who’d coerced her to leave Wyoming.
“When…when you lost your sight, Daniel talked you in to moving here.” He slumped onto the sofa. When he could focus through the pain again, he saw she was shaking her head.
“That’s not true.”
It had to be. It was the only thing that made sense.
But Emma was still shaking her head. "Daniel didn't insist on anything. I was the one who begged him to leave Wyoming."
"No!" He slapped suddenly cold hands against his thighs.
Emma jumped. He’d startled her.
"I don't believe you." Not after the way she’d just kissed him. "You said—” It was years ago, but he’d never forget her declaration that she wanted to be with him. But he couldn't say the words aloud, not with uncertainty rolling in his gut and making him nauseated.
Her hands were trembling, and she tried to hide them under her apron, but he’d seen. "I said I loved you. And I did. But you have to understand…" Her expression beseeched him. "My entire world was turned upside down. I couldn't navigate from my bed to a chair without help. It took months for me to become comfortable in my surroundings again."
The only thing he understood right now was that she'd taken away the opportunity for him to help her through it. "I would've understood. I would've helped you. Been there for you."
Tears sparkled in her eyes. "I didn't want that." When she spoke, her voice broke. "I didn't want to be a burden to you—to anybody. And I was afraid."
The anger he'd thought he’d buried deep inside boiled over. "You should've told me!"
She flinched at his shout.
He breathed hard. Stared at her as a tear overflowed down her cheek. She brushed it away.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
His outburst made him feel even more ashamed. She’d made her choice, and thinking back on the kind of man he’d become, he realized she’d probably made the right one. Look at the mess he’d managed to make of his life. If she’d stayed with him, he might’ve ruined her life, too.
Before he could untangle his rioting thoughts, a strident knock on the door interrupted.
His body felt so heavy that the idea of standing up again seemed impossible. "Don't answer it."
She ignored his order, brushing her hand against her cheek again as she walked past the sofa. "It might be important." Drat it, her voice was still shaking. “It doesn't happen often, but occasionally one of Daniel's clients has an emergency."
He didn't want to scare her, didn't want to think that one of Tolliver’s men could've tracked him here. But it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
He forced himself up off the couch, though he was hurting so badly that he doubted he’d be able to defend her if it was one of Tolliver’s thugs.
By the time he’d shuffled to the parlor door, which she’d left half open, she had the front door cracked.
"It isn't a good time, Phillip."
Phillip. The mysterious beau who’d spent hours sequestered in the kitchen with her two mornings this week. Seb hated the man, and he’d never even laid eyes on him.
Phillips said something, the words indistinguishable from where Seb stood.
And then Emma was opening the door, letting him in.
Seb’s reaction time was shot, and he’d missed his chance to get back into the parlor where he wouldn't be in sight.
Phillip followed Emma into the front hall, his eyes lighting with curiosity when he caught sight of Seb.
Phillip was smartly dressed. His cheeks were smooth—almost glowing—as if he had just shaved them. His gaze was sharp, and he took in Seb quickly. No doubt he didn’t miss the sickly pallor and nightclothes. Seb was the picture of an ill relative. Had Emma told her sweetheart that Seb was staying with her and Daniel?
Emma was already walking down the hall. So Seb did what he should've done before and closed the parlor door.
* * *
Emma was still so shaken from Seb’s kiss and then his temper that it was difficult to focus on Phillip.
She should’ve turned him away at the door, but he’d insisted it was important.
They reached the kitchen, Phillip close behind her. She stopped and turned to face him, not offering him a place to sit.
She realized he was speaking. It took some effort to focus over the cotton batting filling her head.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked.
“I asked if you were all right. There’s a man in your parlor.”
Seb.
Phillip was standing too close, and she realized too late that he was concerned for her.
She hadn’t meant for him to find out about Seb. She must’ve left the parlor door open. Foolish, but she’d been so upset.
“That’s my brother-in-law visiting from out of town,” she said. The half-lie felt unwieldy on her tongue.
“Your brother-in-law?”
“His brother Edgar is married to Fran.”
Phillip uttered a quick “huh,” and she stepped back, putting more distance between them. Phillip was a friend, but she was so flustered right now that she needed the space.
“What was so important?” she asked.
“I heard back from the publisher.”
“Already?” She tried to find some sadness that the publisher had so quickly found her manuscript lacking, but half her mind was still back in the parlor, arguing with Seb. “I’d like to have my manuscript back,” she murmured.
“They didn’t send it back. They sent a contract. And a check. They want to publish your book.”
It took several seconds for the meaning of his words to sink in. Her book, in print?
“The editor also wrote that they are desperate for more quality dime novels like yours. They want to see your next manuscript as quickly as possible.”
An editor wanted more of her books?
She heard Phillip’s words as if from far away. She couldn’t quite seem to get them to stick.
She sensed Phillip step closer, looming over her. He pressed something—a piece of paper—into her hand.
“It’s your check. For five hundred dollars.”
It was an impossible sum. She tried to muster some excitement to match Phillip’s. The smile she gave him felt forced and unnatural. “This is so wonderful, Phillip. I can’t seem to—to take it in.” But not for the reasons he might suspect.
“We should celebrate.” Was there a new deepness in his voice? She got that prickly feeling as if he was stari
ng at her.
“Not tonight.” She stepped away to place the check on the counter. “I’m certain Daniel will want to read the contract.”
Phillip stepped into her space again, and she heard the rustle of paper settle on the counter where she’d just placed the check.
“I knew this would work out.” Phillip was too close, the heat from his body smothering her. But she’d backed herself into the counter, and there was nowhere else to go.
“That’s why I sent in the manuscript,” he went on, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. “I knew you wouldn’t do it, and your work deserves to be read.”
His words were a reminder that it hadn’t been her decision to submit the manuscript at all. She’d wanted to wait. Everything had worked out, but it hadn’t been her doing. Phillip had orchestrated everything.
And somehow, that fact aggravated like a pebble in her shoe.
“Excuse me.” She shifted, relieved beyond measure when he moved out of her way.
She started to lead the way back to the front door.
“Thank you for coming over to tell me the news,” she said over her shoulder.
He moved more slowly, but he did follow. “You don’t seem excited.”
“I am excited.” She was. She just couldn’t feel anything more right now. “I’m also tired, and I need to get Daniel’s supper on.” And she was still reeling from the argument with Seb. She needed a moment alone. “I’ll see you for our session on Tuesday,” she said as she swung the front door open.
Phillip hesitated.
He was looming again, and her stomach pinched at the thought of him getting any closer.
“Thank you.” She made the words sound final. “For everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice echoing with reluctance.
Finally, he left.
She heard Seb moving around in the parlor, but she couldn’t bear to face him, not with her battered emotions confusing everything right now.
She escaped up the stairs to her room.
7
The Cowboy's Honor Page 5
