The Cowboy's Honor

by Lacy Williams

  Daniel arrived home late. Seb heard him trudge up the stairs, heard a door open and the faint murmur of Emma’s voice.

  And then Daniel’s steps came back downstairs, across the hall, and to the kitchen.

  Served him right to have to scrounge for his supper. How many nights did he work late like this, leaving Emma to fend for herself? How lonely must she be, trapped here all alone?

  I was the one who begged him to leave Wyoming.

  Emma’s words from earlier battered him, and he tossed on the sofa, aggravating his knife wound.

  Hours earlier, she’d delivered his supper of bread and cheese and cold ham without a word. Her expression had been drawn, and she’d left as quickly as she’d come.

  He didn’t say a word to stop her.

  He deserved her silence. He was an awful person. He’d been worried about her when she’d been gone such a long time. He’d let his emotion get the better of him and kissed her, even though he’d known it was wrong.

  And she’d responded so passionately.

  Maybe her response had been a holdover from their shared past. Maybe she was just lonely.

  Whatever had prompted her response, it wasn’t genuine feelings for him. She’d made that clear when they’d argued.

  Daniel entered the room, saving him from his thoughts. “You awake?”

  He grunted. He had no desire to see Emma’s brother right now.

  But it didn’t seem he had a choice as Daniel moved to sit on the chair across the room. Daniel hadn’t lit a candle, and the darkness seemed oppressive around them both.

  “Tolliver has been asking around about you.”

  Seb came instantly alert. He pushed up on his elbow.

  "It's time for you to go to the sheriff."

  Seb shook his head. "I can't do that."

  Even in the darkness, he could sense Daniel’s glare. "If you don't, he's going to keep hurting innocent people, ruining their livelihood. You know what he's capable of."

  Tolliver had tried to kill Seb. Of course, he knew what the man was capable of. "If I go to the law and tell them what I did, I'll be the one sitting in jail."

  Daniel’s attention settled heavily on him. The question in his gaze felt obvious—why did Seb think he should be exempt from punishment when he’d done the things he had?

  "Maybe so,” Daniel said. “But he's hurt a lot of people."

  Seb had only worked for Tolliver for a few months. Tolliver had controlled areas of Denver for years. Seb knew that Daniel was right, that the man needed to be stopped. But it wasn't Seb’s job to do it, not when he’d already paid in blood by trying to get free. Not if it meant ruining his life.

  He knew he wore a mulish look on his face, even if Daniel couldn’t see it.

  Daniel made a disgusted noise and rose from the chair. "The doctor said you would be fit to travel in two days. Nothing strenuous, but you can get on a train. I'll buy your ticket. I want you gone."

  If Daniel knew what had transpired between him and Emma earlier in the day, he would've booted him out right then and there.

  Seb didn't say another word as Daniel left the room. The house grew quiet, and Seb was left staring at the shadows on the ceiling.

  He thought about Emma and the things she’d said. About everything he’d lost when she'd decided to walk away from him, decided he wasn't man enough to take care of her.

  He didn’t think he slept a wink the entire night.

  * * *

  Emma was still stewing over the confrontation with Seb as she rattled around in the kitchen the next morning. She didn't know of a better way to explain her decision to leave Wyoming than what she’d said the night before.

  When she’d gone blind, she’d been afraid and had needed to learn to make her own way. She wasn't that frightened young woman anymore.

  And she still loved him. The realization felt like salt in a half-healed wound. Because she’d walked away from Seb, and he couldn't forgive her. Now that she was ready to open her heart again, he was out of reach.

  "Good morning."

  She could hear the exhaustion in Daniel’s voice. She wished he would take better care of himself. Wished that his late nights were not a frequent occurrence. The long hours of work took it out of him. He moved toward the table, and she brought over the plate of scrambled eggs and buttered bread she’d had warming on the stove. She returned for the coffee pot.

  "The publisher Phillip contacted wants to publish my book." In between bouts of stewing over Seb, she'd also been thinking over the book publishing matter. She hadn't meant to let the news out to Daniel quite like that. But at least it was out there.

  He made a noise of surprise. He cleared his throat, and she heard the slurp that meant he must have sipped his coffee. "That's wonderful."

  “They sent a contract," she said. "It's there on the table if you want to look over it."

  She heard the slide of paper against the wooden surface of the table. Even as a young girl, she could remember watching Daniel become engrossed as he read thousand-page legal tomes. She imagined him doing the same now, his head bent over her book contract. It gave her a few moments to steel herself.

  And then she said what she meant to say. "I'm going back to Wyoming."

  At first he didn't seem to hear her. There was a prolonged pause as he must’ve needed a moment for her words to register. "What?"

  She barely resisted the urge to twist her hands in front of her. She wanted to appear confident. She straightened her shoulders. "I'm going back to Wyoming."

  He sighed. "Emma, I told you that after this big case breaks—”

  “After this case, you'll have another." Because that was what always happened. Daniel couldn't turn away the people who needed his help. And she didn’t expect him to. But she couldn’t take this anymore.

  "Now that I've sold my book, I have some money and—”

  “It's not about the money. Emma, you can't travel in your condition. You can’t see.”

  “I can travel, and I'm going to."

  Daniel wasn't the kind of brother who would put her under lock and key. She was determined to do this. With or without his permission.

  8

  Seb couldn't take his eyes off Emma as she cradled her friend’s baby close. They were in Caroline’s house and she was working to convince her friend to go take a nap.

  She'd gone to visit Caroline in the morning and returned near lunchtime with little Bertram in her arms. She claimed the tot’s mother needed a break, and when she began to gather up her things to take him back to his mom in the afternoon, Seb had found himself asking to tag along. It was only a short walk down the street. It should be safe if they didn’t dawdle on the street. His wounds were healing and as long as he didn’t overdo it, he could walk a bit. He needed to work on his endurance since he was leaving town soon.

  Things were still strained between him and Emma, and the tensions of yesterday hadn’t been resolved. But he couldn’t face another afternoon of sitting alone in Daniel’s parlor with only his boredom, shame, and hurt for company.

  He didn't figure there was any way what was between them was going to get resolved before tomorrow morning, when he intended to hop on a train. He had no specific destination in mind, he just knew that he had to get out of town before Tolliver caught up with him.

  Watching Emma bounce the baby softly, his gut twisted into a knot. Everything in him rebelled against the idea of walking away from her.

  I was afraid.

  He hated the thought of her being afraid. Hated that she hadn’t trusted him enough to be what she needed.

  I didn’t want to be a burden to you.

  He would’ve helped her. It wouldn’t have been a burden.

  But she hadn’t wanted him enough. She hadn’t even given him a chance.

  Part of him felt like that four-year-old boy who’d been alone in the street. What was it about him that made people want to walk away?

  But he was here now. And she was talking soft
ly in low tones with her friend Caroline, who appeared flushed with fever. The little gal who looked to be about three was playing with wooden spoons on the floor, and her nose was running with copious amounts of snot. The boy who was maybe a year older than the girl was paging through a first-year primer, mumbling to himself. Surely he was too young to read? Maybe he was making up a story.

  “I insist," said Emma, her voice strident. “You're feeling poorly, and your babies need you to get better. Go lie down."

  He knew how futile it was to argue with Emma, and the poor woman didn't stand a chance. Emma shooed her into what must be a tiny bedroom at the back of the cottage.

  Emma turned on him with an assessing gaze. What was she thinking?

  “You're good with babies." She certainly hadn't asked a question, but he found himself almost dumbfounded as she stepped close and transferred the little one into his arms.

  Emma's cheeks flushed pink, and she kept her head from tipping up toward him.

  He didn't know how she sensed where the little girl sat on the floor. Maybe it was the incessant drumming of that spoon. But Emma placed a gentle hand on the girl’s head as she walked past, back to the pile of dishes on the table.

  "You sure you don't want to let me help with the chores?” he asked.

  He knew she was capable. But it didn't seem fair for him to sit on his patootie while she did all the work.

  "I'm sure that I don't want you injuring yourself after all it's taken to get you healed. Sit in the rocking chair over there and occupy the children."

  He followed orders. It was a relief to settle his body into the rocking chair. He moved the baby up to his shoulder. The little one cooed and rested his head in the crook of Seb’s neck. Seb held him with one hand and patted the diapered rump with the other, something he’d seen his brother Oscar do many times.

  The little girl abandoned her wooden spoons and came to stand at Seb’s knee.

  Emma had already been outside and back, lugging a bucket of water from the pump. She poured it into a pan on the stove to heat, her back to him.

  "Tell us a story!" The little girl beseeched him with puppy dog eyes. She used the back of her wrist to wipe beneath her nose.

  "A story?"

  The boy looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. "Miss Emma always tells us stories. ’Bout cowboys and horse races and bad guys and livin’ on a farm."

  "And princesses," the little girl interjected.

  The boy pulled a face.

  Seb couldn't see Emma’s expression, but he was pretty sure the pink splotches coloring her neck meant she was blushing.

  He’d always known she was good with children. His brothers had a passel of kids between them, and there were always little ones around the family homestead. He’d even seen her play dolls with his sister Ida all those years ago. They’d never talked about a family of their own—they hadn't had time during their stunted courtship—but now he couldn't help but wonder. Had Emma wanted children? Had she given up that dream? Or was it something she still wanted?

  It wasn't his place to ask. She didn't want him in her life.

  He cleared his throat, looking at the two expectant faces in front of him. “All right… A cowboy walked into town."

  "You're supposed to say ‘once upon a time’ at the beginning," the boy interrupted.

  Seb leveled a look on him, but the boy just returned the stare expectantly.

  "Once upon a time," he started again, "a cowboy walked into town. He was on foot."

  "What’d he look like?" the little girl asked. “And why didn’t he have a horse?”

  He glanced across the room to see Emma pouring that now-hot water into the wash bucket. She set the water pail aside, tucked next to the stove where she wouldn't trip on it.

  "I don't know," he said. "I guess he had brown hair."

  "What about what he was wearing? And where was the town? What was it like?"

  He gritted his teeth at the additional questions. "I don't know. Clothes. A regular town.” Whose story was this anyway?

  “Miss Emma tells stories better’n you,” the little girl said.

  He couldn't help it. His gaze slipped to her again, and he saw the pink blush in her neck and face. She moved with easy grace as she took each dish from the table and scrubbed it in the sudsy water, then dried it from the towel she’d draped over her shoulder. She returned to the table with a clean dish and exchanged it for another dirty one.

  "That's because she's an author," the little boy said.

  His gaze was still on Emma, so he caught it when she fumbled, nearly dropping the plate she held.

  She was what?

  The baby moved on his shoulder, snuffling his face deeper into Seb’s neck. He rubbed circles on the babe’s back as he tried to process this new information.

  "She writes books and everything.” The little boy had his chest puffed up with pride, almost as if he were the one who’d accomplished the task.

  Emma was scrubbing furiously now, maybe thinking that if she looked busy enough, he was going to let this go.

  She should know better.

  "That true?" he asked.

  She nodded jerkily. Was she keeping her face averted on purpose?

  He thought of all those hours she’d spent sequestered in the kitchen with Phillip. Was she somehow writing a book? How?

  "You're really working with Philip?"

  "I told you so.” Her voice was slightly breathless, as if it was taking all her effort to scrub the dish she was holding. "He's a typist."

  Well, wasn't that something? He never would've imagined Emma as an author. But if it was something she loved doing, why not?

  Momentarily distracted from his mediocre storytelling attempt by a ladybug crawling across the floor, the two children gave him a few moments to watch Emma without any distraction.

  My entire world was turned upside down.

  She’d worked hard to overcome the hurdles her blindness had caused. She’d made a life for herself. She was happy here. She had Daniel to look after her, true, but she had made friends. She was writing a book, chasing her dream. And she hadn't needed Seb to make any of it happen.

  He felt that yawning emptiness open up inside him again. He tried to tell himself it was a good thing that she was happy.

  That he was happy for her.

  But thinking about their time together two years ago choked him up, his throat tight and hot.

  He wished things could've been different. Wished there could've been a place in her heart for him.

  * * *

  Emma finished the dishes and heated more water for Caroline's laundry. Fran had written once about how it felt like dirty clothes multiplied when she’d had a baby. Emma didn't know firsthand, but she wanted to make things easy for Caroline today, while she didn’t feel well.

  Seb was subdued, talking with the children in quiet tones.

  She imagined him in the rocker, his broad shoulders a perfect place for the baby to snuggle in close. He would hold him securely. Seb’s arms had always been a safe place.

  That kind of thinking was dangerous. Seb was still angry with her, and everything was in a muddle. She’d tried to explain to him why she’d left, but she hadn't been able to make him understand.

  Maybe he never would.

  She’d made the best decision she could at the time. To leave Wyoming. But every decision had a consequence. Hadn't life taught her that? She thought about those dark days when she and Fran had been on the run from Underhill. She’d thought it was innocent to flirt with a man, to encourage his intentions. She's been young and stupid. Her naivety had almost cost her sister her life.

  Some decisions, once made, altered the course of your life.

  And it was clear that she'd hurt Seb deeply. Maybe it wasn't entirely her fault that he was now a hardened, distant person. But certainly her leaving had been a part of it.

  She prayed as she washed. She prayed that he would remember how much his family loved hi
m. She prayed that he would go back home. Or, if he couldn't go back home, that at least he would send a letter to let his family know he was all right. Tears stung behind her nose as she prayed for him to find happiness again, even if it couldn't be with her. She wasn't foolish enough to think that he could love her again, not after the way things ended between them.

  She took the two older children into the tiny yard with her as she worked to pin up the dozens of cloth diapers on the line. As the afternoon wore on, the kids laughed and shrieked, chasing each other around the small space.

  She was halfway through the stack of diapers when Seb joined her.

  “The little guy fell asleep on me," he said. "I put him in the cradle in the bedroom."

  "Caroline?"

  "She didn't even stir."

  She wasn’t surprised. Caroline was exhausted, and Emma didn't blame her. On top of caring for three sick children, Caroline had come down with the sickness herself. Emma would do everything she could to make sure Caroline didn’t have any remaining chores today.

  "The kids are occupied. Why don't you let me help?" he asked.

  She took half the stack of clean, damp diapers and extended them toward where his voice had come from.

  He took them, his fingers clasping around her hands, lingering for a moment, holding the cloths between them.

  "Emma."

  Her heart thundered in her chest. But he only sighed and drew away.

  “I’m going to be leaving soon," he said.

  She ducked her head to reach for another cloth, hoping to hide her dismay. She’d known this was coming. But she wasn't ready.

  She wanted to ask him to stay. But that wouldn't be fair. She didn't even know what was chasing him.

  She heard the rustle of fabric as he clipped diapers onto the clothesline.

  She swallowed and could only hope that her voice would come out even. “I believe I'm going to go on a trip as well. In a few days, after Caroline is better.”

  “Good for you.” His voice was quiet.

  She forced a smile. “It's been far too long since I’ve visited Fran. And your family."

  The silence stretched between them, the only sound the children's chatter from across the yard.