Emma's Wish

by Margery Scott

  "Maybe you should let one try. There's plenty of good-looking women in Charity. Maybe the widow Brown. She's used to looking after young'uns."

  Fred had been arguing with Sam ever since he'd made the decision to send the children to Boston. Sam understood why Fred was so dead set against it, but he didn't have to worry about putting food in the their mouths, or trying to get his cattle moved to higher ground while a three-year-old was hanging on to his pant leg.

  "Let it go, Fred."

  The warning in Sam's voice went unheeded.

  "Seems to me they'd be better off here than back with those prissy folks of Catherine's."

  "That's what the Witherspoon woman said, too."

  "She's got a point."

  "She's a busybody."

  "Now, Sam--"

  "Don't you 'now, Sam' me. The woman doesn't have any idea what's going on out here, and she has the gall to stand there preaching to me about my responsibilities. Hell, does she think I don't know what I should be doing?"

  "She probably jest figured--"

  "Figured? All her figuring did was make matters worse. When I spoke to the children after we got home, all they kept saying was that she'd promised they didn't have to go away."

  "She did, eh? Well, I'll be hornswoggled."

  Sam nodded. "How the hell am I supposed to get them used to the idea of leaving when I have to deal with women who can't mind their own business?"

  "But then, I'da thought Emma woulda had a whole passel of babies of her own by now."

  "You know her?"

  "Known her all her life. Course, she was gone for a spell when she went back east to finishing school, but she was always a mighty fine lady."

  Before Sam had a chance to comment on exactly what he thought of Emma Witherspoon, the grandfather clock in the parlor chimed. Glancing up at the time, he picked up his hat. "If you're coming to the station with us, let's go."

  Sam's throat tightened, and he found his knees were a bit wobbly when he left the house and gathered the children around him, memorizing every detail. He tried to still the quake in his voice when he spoke. "It's time to go."

  ***

  Emma shouldn't be here. Sam Jenkins had told her to stay out of his business, hadn't he? So what had possessed her to walk two miles to the train station today of all days?

  He was putting his children on the train today. So what? She had just as much right to be at the train station as he did. She had business there.

  No, she had to admit to herself, the package in her arms didn't have to be sent today, but there was no reason she shouldn't put it on today's train, was there? If Sam Jenkins and his children happened to show up while she was there, it wasn't her fault.

  Emma opened the door to the depot and stepped inside. The station master, Oliver Grady, turned and smiled when he recognized her. "Morning, Emma. What brings you all the way down here?"

  "I have a package to go to St. Louis, please," Emma replied. And I have to try one last time to stop Sam Jenkins from sending his children away.

  "Sure thing," Oliver said, taking the box from her. Shifting his spectacles further up his nose, he peered at the address on the package. "A gift?" he asked.

  Emma shook her head. "A few of my father's things I thought Uncle John might like."

  "I'm sure he will," Oliver agreed. Turning away from her, he placed the box on a scale behind the counter and waited until the pointer stopped. As he wrote the number in a notebook beside him, he told Emma the cost.

  Emma counted out some coins from her reticule and handed them to him. As the coins passed from her hand to his, their fingers touched. Oliver's hand closed over hers.

  "Your hands are chilled, Emma," he said, rubbing his thumb across her palm.

  Emma pulled her hand away. "Did I miss the train?" she asked, changing the subject. She tried to make the question appear to be a casual inquiry, but even she could hear the anxiety in her voice.

  Oliver gave her a curious glance. "Nope," he replied. "Should be arriving in ..." He paused and looked up at the clock beside the counter, "Twelve minutes."

  Twelve minutes.

  Surely Mr. Jenkins and the children would have arrived by now if he still intended to send them away. He must have reconsidered. Thank Heavens. Emma couldn't contain her happiness.

  "Wonderful," Emma said, feeling her face break into a grin. Then a thought occurred to her and her smile disappeared. "That is the train that goes to Boston, isn't it?"

  Oliver's eyes narrowed, and a frown creased his brow. "Yep. Sure does. Why?"

  "Oh, no reason," she lied. "I've thought of taking a trip to Boston one of these days, that's all."

  "Didn't you see Boston when you were back east at school?" he asked.

  Emma shook her head. "No. I lived in Philadephia."

  "Same thing," Oliver pointed out. "Big city. Too many people."

  Emma smiled. "That's true, I suppose."

  "Nope," Oliver insisted. "I'll stay right here where you can breathe clean air and move around without bumping into people. Besides, there's folks here that mean a lot to me."

  His meaning wasn't lost on Emma. Ever since she'd met Oliver at the church Christmas social, he'd made no bones about his attraction to her.

  "I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now," he went on. "Emma--"

  She couldn't deal with Oliver right now. "I have to go."

  "I just want to--"

  "I'll see you later, Oliver. You'll be sure to put the package on the train, won't you?"

  "Well, sure, but--"

  "Bye."

  Emma practically ran out the door and down the wooden platform to the end of the building. She stopped, peering into the distance. A small dark cloud hung low in the sky, and moments later, a black blot on the horizon took shape. The train was coming.

  But it didn't matter. The children were staying with their father.

  She turned. Then she saw him!

  Sam Jenkins was driving a wagon towards her. Fred Holloway shared the seat, and between them, she noticed a head of blonde curls. Becky’s blonde curls.

  Oh, no!

  He hadn't changed his mind after all. After everything she'd said, he was going ahead with his plan to dispose of his children. “Damn!” she muttered, then glanced around to make sure she was alone.

  The wagon drew closer, and Emma's heart began to pound. Would he speak to her? She doubted it. He'd made it quite clear when they'd parted that he wasn't interested in her opinion and wanted her out of his life.

  The children probably wouldn't speak to her, either. She deserved their hatred. She'd made a promise to them, and she'd broken that promise.

  It seemed he would drive right past her, but he drew the wagon to a stop.

  "Mornin', Emma," Fred called.

  "Mornin'," Sam muttered.

  Becky grinned, but the boys only glared at her from the wagon bed.

  Sam looked terrible, as if he hadn't slept in days. Dark shadows ringed his eyes, and a day's growth of beard covered his square chin.

  At least he's suffering, Emma thought with perverse satisfaction. She would have been much angrier if he'd seemed to be doing this without any conscience.

  "Good morning, Fred. Mr. Jenkins."

  Sam eyed her with suspicion.

  "Hello, Becky," she said, smiling at the little girl wriggling in her seat under Sam's restraining hand. Oh, how she wanted to take the little girl in her arms and hold her, to feel those tiny arms around her neck. "Good morning, boys," she added to the Nathan and Joseph. Neither of them answered.

  Sam turned to the boys. "Mind your manners," he ordered as he got out and lifted Becky out of the wagon.

  Both boys muttered a greeting then climbed down. They stood silently at Sam's side

  Becky ran to Emma. "Me make flat japs?" she asked, her eyes wide in anticipation.

  Emma felt her throat close. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. Crouching down so that she was at eye level with the little gi
rl, she said softly, "Not today, sweetheart."

  "What brings you out here on a day like this?" Fred asked.

  "I ... I had a package ..."

  Mr. Jenkins took Becky's hand and made to move past her. "Let's go," he said to the boys.

  She couldn't let them go. She just couldn't. Not without trying one more time to make him reconsider.

  "Mr. Jenkins," she called out.

  He stopped, but didn't turn around.

  Emma crossed the dirt yard and stood in front of him. She had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. "Mr. Jenkins, please--"

  He scowled down at her. Mercy, his eyes were dark. They glistened, as if tears lurked, waiting to fall. Ridiculous. Men don't cry. Do they?

  Was it possible that he wasn't the ogre she thought he was? That perhaps this wasn't what he wanted?

  If there was even a chance he really did want to keep the children, she had to keep trying.

  The sound of the train whistle interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up. The black dot on the horizon had taken shape, growing larger and larger every second.

  She didn't have much time.

  "Fred," she called. "Would you mind keeping the children for a few minutes while I speak to Mr. Jenkins?"

  "Sure enough, Emma," he replied with a smile. Taking Becky's hand from Sam's grip, he walked away, calling the boys to follow him.

  "I have nothing to say to you," Sam said once the children were out of earshot.

  "Good. Because there isn't time for both of us to talk, and I have plenty to say to you," Emma countered.

  Sam frowned. "What--?"

  "I've come to realize that perhaps I was wrong about you."

  Sam's eyes widened in surprise.

  Well, she was surprised, too. She never thought she'd admit that.

  "However," she went on, "I still believe you are making a terrible mistake if you send those children away."

  "Look, Miss Witherspoon--"

  "Mr. Jenkins, please . Those children need you."

  "Like I said the other day, this is none of your concern. Surely there's plenty of other problems in this town for you to butt your nose into."

  At any other time, Emma would have been insulted by his rudeness. Now, however, she didn't have the luxury of telling him what she thought of his lack of manners. She had to hold on to her temper. She had to think of the children. Nothing else.

  The train whistle blew as it chugged into the station. Steam billowed from beneath the engine, forming into a cloud as the train squealed to a stop.

  Taking a deep breath and meeting his gaze steadily, she forced herself to speak calmly. "Regardless of your opinion of me, the children are what's important right now."

  "Look, ma'am," he said, "I'll tell you this for the last time, and I'll do it real slow so you understand. I can't look after three children and a ranch. They need a family.”

  "They need their father--"

  "They don't need a man who's too busy trying to run a ranch that he hardly has time to even fix them a decent meal. They don't need a man who can't mend their clothes, and make sure they wash behind their ears--"

  "You're right. They do need a woman's care."

  "Their grandmother will raise them the way their mother would want them raised."

  Emma's eyebrows lifted. "Really? I doubt that."

  "What do you know about it?"

  "I didn't know Catherine personally, but I assume she loved her children."

  "Of course she did. She loved them more than anything."

  From what Amanda had told her, Catherine's childhood had been anything but happy. Surely Sam was aware of that. Yet he was willing to allow his wife's parents to raise his children.

  This was her last trump card. If she couldn't appeal to his guilt, then she had nothing left.

  "Do you truly believe your wife will rest in peace knowing her children are so far away? That they will be growing up in Boston?"

  He didn't answer immediately. He was thinking. That was good.

  "I ..."

  "Don't you think she'd want them to be with you instead of with their grandparents?"

  "Well ... sure. But I don't have any way to look after them. They need a woman."

  Emma's gaze met with Sam's, and again, she saw the pain behind his tough exterior.

  "Yes," she agreed, her gaze still on his dark-as-coal-eyes. Her heart began to flutter irregularly. Mercy! "They do," she murmured when she could finally speak.

  "Wait a minute!" he blustered. "I'm not about to get married again. Hell, I'm not ready to think about another woman in that way. In fact, I don't think I'll ever be ready."

  "What about a marriage of convenience?"

  "A what?"

  "A marriage in name only. Two people who marry for mutual benefit, without any romantic notions."

  "What woman in her right mind would ever agree to something like that?"

  "I would."

  Chapter 3

  Sam couldn't believe his ears. The woman was actually offering to marry him just so he wouldn't put his own children on the train.

  She was loco. That was it. The woman was plain crazed. What other reason could there be for a woman to up and marry a stranger for the sake of three young'uns she hardly knew?

  Fred hadn't said anything about that, though. In fact, he'd been singing her praises ever since Sam had brought the children home. Surely he would have mentioned it if she wasn't right in the head.

  She was staring up at him, her eyes wide. Nice eyes, he thought. Blue, the color of the bluebonnets in the pasture, and ringed by long lashes. He hadn't noticed before, but she was downright pretty. Not the kind of beauty and elegance Catherine had, but still, she had an appealing face. Creamy skin with a few freckles scattered across a small upturned nose. Full lips that he'd already seen pursed in anger as well as parted in a smile for his children.

  The rest of her was put together in all the right proportions, too, he noticed, running his gaze down her length.

  "Well?" she asked, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. "Do I meet with your approval?"

  Sam flushed. What the hell had gotten into him, staring at her like she was one of the soiled doves at Fulton's Female Emporium? He looked away, unable to meet her accusing gaze.

  "I ..."

  "I assume that's why you were examining me like a horse you were planning to purchase?"

  "I wasn't examining--"

  The train conductor's voice pierced the air. "All aboard!"

  "I have to go, Miss Witherspoon. The children are going to miss the train."

  "I certainly hope so."

  "Look--"

  "Mr. Jenkins, will you marry me?"

  "What did you say?"

  "I asked you to marry me."

  Marry? She was serious. She wanted to marry him. The realization hit him hard, and for a few moments, he just stared at her, trying to figure out what her game was. Surely there were plenty of men in town who'd be more than happy to oblige her. Why would she want to marry someone she didn't even know, and take on a ready-made family?

  Well, it didn't matter anyway.

  "I'm not marrying anybody."

  "Please, think about it before you refuse."

  "I don't mean to insult you, and it's nothing personal, but I don't want to get married again. I had a wife. She's gone now, and I can't see myself caring for another woman the way I did for her."

  "I'm not suggesting a marriage based on anything other than mutual respect and perhaps, eventually friendship. A marriage which would be beneficial to everyone concerned."

  "Do you realize what you're saying?"

  Emma's voice was soft when she answered. "Yes, I know exactly what I'm saying."

  "Why?" Sam asked. "Why would you want to marry me and raise my children?"

  "I have my reasons. I'd be a good wife to you, and a good mother to your children. Right now, that's what's most important. The children don't want to leave, and I suspect you don't want them to go.
I'm offering you a solution."

  Sam stared at her. She was so tense she looked like she'd break in two if anybody touched her. Her fists were clenched around the strap of her reticule, and she began to nibble on her bottom lip while she waited for his answer.

  Could it work? Fred gave her a glowing recommendation, and he did value Fred's opinion. Could they really form a family? Hell, he needed time to think.

  "Last call." The conductor's voice boomed through the station. "Two minutes. Next stop Denver, Colorado, with connections to Boston, Philadelphia and New York City.”

  Two minutes. Two minutes to make a decision that would affect the rest of his life.

  He tunnelled his fingers through his hair and shifted his gaze to his children. At the other end of the platform, Fred was sitting on a bench with Becky on his knee. Nathan sat on one side and Joseph on the other. Fred was talking, and the children were engrossed in whatever tall tale he was telling.

  Sam caught Fred's gaze. Fred's head nodded slightly, as if he was telling Sam to listen to the woman standing before him. He couldn't know what Emma was offering, but he apparently thought enough of her to suggest that Sam pay attention to what she had to say.

  "I appreciate the offer, but I can't let you do this."

  Her eyes filled with tears. "Why not?"

  "You haven't thought this through. You don't even know us."

  "I've thought about little else."

  "You'd have to give up your home, your friends, your life here in town."

  "I'm prepared to do that."

  "What about a family of your own? You prepared to give up having a real husband and babies of your own?"

  Emma nodded. "I am."

  "I don't know ..."

  Emma's heart began to race. He was going to agree. She just knew it. She could barely conceal her excitement.

  Glancing over, Emma noticed Fred and the children heading towards them, followed by the train conductor. She only had a few more seconds.

  "Hey, Sam," Fred called out. "Should I get the young'uns settled on the train?"

  The conductor took out a pocket watch and opened the cover. "We're leaving in one minute."

  "Mr. Jenkins ...?" Emma couldn't contain her anxiety. "Please ..."