"You not mad at me?"
"No, I'm not mad. But you have to be gentle or you'll hurt them," Emma pointed out.
Becky's head nodded in understanding. "Me be gentle."
With the hem of her apron, Emma wiped Becky's tears and handed her one of flowers. Carefully, Becky slid it into the vase. "Me be gentle?" She eyed Emma expectantly, her eyes sparkling, waiting for her approval.
"That's much better." Emma made a move to set the vase in the middle of the table.
"Me put it."
"Then let me help you."
Becky's small fingers reached. With Emma's hands covering Becky's, they positioned it in the centre of the table and stood back to admire the result. She yawned, fatigue washing over her. She'd been scouring and cleaning since breakfast, and every muscle in her body screamed for relief. But it was worth it. The room finally looked the way a kitchen should, sparkling clean and welcoming. She could barely wait to see the look on Sam's face when he and the boys came in for supper.
The evening meal was almost ready. A slab of beef with potatoes, carrots and onions was roasting in the oven. Fresh green beans were simmering on top of the stove, and the biscuits were rising on the counter, waiting to go into the oven as soon as she heard the wagon pull into the yard. Two cherry pies cooled on the window sill, their aroma wafting through the room.
She smiled and glanced at the grandfather clock. She'd have to hurry if she planned to get herself cleaned up before her men got back.
Her men.
When had she taken to calling Sam and the boys 'her men'? Over the past few days, she'd started to thinking of them that way. And she had to admit she did love the sound of the phrase. In fact, she loved everything about her new life. Well, almost everything.
As the days went by, she noticed Sam becoming more and more distant, more tense whenever she was nearby. When she watched him interact with the children, he was happy and relaxed, laughing and joking, enjoying them. Yet as soon as she entered the room, she sensed a wall between them.
But she had no idea why.
Perhaps he was just busy. Or perhaps she had expected more than he was capable of giving.
Before she had time to consider this, the door burst open. "Ma!" Joseph shouted, racing through the house into the kitchen. "What's for supper? We're starvin'."
Nathan followed close behind. His nose wrinkled up in distaste as he spied the beans. "Ooh, I hate beans," he muttered.
Emma smiled, then ruffled his hair. "I seem to have heard that once or twice. We have other vegetables, so you don't have to eat the beans."
Nathan eyed her suspiciously. "Really?"
"Really."
"What about me?" Joseph asked, coming up to stand beside Nathan.
"You too. I'd never force you to eat something you didn't like."
A glance Emma couldn't read passed between the boys but they remained silent.
Emma picked up the tray of biscuits and slid it into the oven. "Why don't you go and wash up for supper. Where's your father?"
"Outside. He's fixing the wheel on the wagon. It was coming loose."
Emma turned to Joseph. "Please go and tell him supper will be ready in a few minutes."
The boys ran out, letting the door slam shut behind them.
Emma looked out the window and smiled contentedly as they raced across the yard and disappeared behind the barn. A stiff breeze flapped at the curtains, and the sun disappeared behind a bank of smoke-colored clouds.
A few minutes later, Emma heard the sound of Sam's footsteps on the porch.
He came into the house and hung his coat on the coat tree behind the front door.
A few moments later, he entered the kitchen. Emma was standing with her back to the stove, a grin on her face as if she had a secret she couldn't wait to share.
He began to return her smile at the same time he caught the changes Emma had made in the kitchen. He stopped short in the doorway, feeling the smile on his face freeze as he looked first at the window, then the table, then slid his gaze around the room.
Catherine's dishes were gone, the ones she'd just had to have, even though they'd cost more than a month's supply of feed. In their place, white china with a border of yellow and orange flowers sat on the table. On a yellow tablecloth, not Catherine's red and white checkered one. Catherine's curtains, the ones she'd been ecstatic to get from Sears, were gone. Instead, bright yellow curtains wafted in the breeze coming through the window.
How could Emma have done this? She'd stripped away every sign of Catherine. As if she'd never existed.
"What the hell did you do to Catherine's kitchen?"
Emma's smile faded, and her eyes widened at the tone of Sam's voice. Her face reddened. "I ... cleaned it."
"You did a lot more than clean it. Where are Catherine's things?"
"I put them away."
"Why? There was no reason to move them."
Emma picked up a potholder. "I thought it would be nice to spruce up the kitchen a little."
"You could have spruced it up without touching Catherine's things."
"I wanted to use my china, and my own pots and pans." She opened the oven door and took out the roasting pan.
Sam's gaze slid to the hutch against the opposite wall. There, neatly lining two of the shelves, was the rest of Emma's china. A soup tureen and a serving platter sat on the bottom shelf.
"You had no business moving things."
"Excuse me?" Emma gazed at him as if he'd just sprouted three heads. "I had no business?"
"That's right," Sam said, crossing the kitchen. He was standing so close he could see the dark irises of her blue eyes. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. He glared down at her. "This is my house. Mine and Catherine's. You had no right to change anything without asking."
Sam regretted his words almost as soon as they left his mouth. The blood seemed to drain from Emma's face, and tears filled her eyes.
Damn! He hadn't meant to make her cry. Or maybe he had. His insides were twisted into a knot, and yes, he wanted her to hurt as much as he did. And he'd done just that. He'd hurt her. Hurt her deeply.
But instead of yelling back at him, she turned away and carefully lifted the lid off the roasting pan.
"What's wrong, Ma?" Joseph came into the room, then stopped, his gaze flitting from Emma to Sam. "Did you burn the supper?"
Nathan followed right behind and stood beside Joseph. "What? You burned it?"
Emma turned to face the children. "No," she said. "Supper's fine. Your father was just telling me how he feels about the work I did in the kitchen."
"What about it?" Joseph asked.
"Never mind," Sam said. "Sit down and eat your supper." Turning, he stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, his gut feeling as if someone had slammed a fist into it.
He opened the bedroom door and went inside. The room was the same, but it seemed different. Except for a crate piled high with quilts in the corner, the room was spotless. There were no petticoats or dresses draped over the chairs. There wasn't a speck of dust on the chest, and the room smelled of polish, and sunshine, with a faint scent of roses. It smelled of Emma.
A sob he'd held inside since the day Catherine died tore at him. She's gone. And she's not coming back. Ever. If I'd let her go back east when she asked ... if I'd only been able to make her happy ...
Sam slumped into the rocker and leaned forward, his head in his hands as sobs racked his body. He hadn't cried when she died. Not once. But even his willpower couldn't stop the tears from flowing now. He couldn't even stop them when he heard the door open and felt Emma's presence in the room.
Emma laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right to cry, Sam."
With a tortured groan, he reached out and pulled her tight, pressing his face against her breasts. His entire body trembled.
Emma held him as he wept, comforting him with soft words. Her touch was gentle as she smoothed his dark hair, breathing in the scent of soap. The heat of his body
warmed her, and her heart began to skip.
After a time, he quieted and looked up. His eyes were glassy, and his lashes were damp. Their gazes met, and Emma's breath caught. A strange sensation washed over her, as if she and Sam were the only two people left in the world, as if they were two parts of one whole.
Unnerved, she moved out of the circle of his arms. "I ... I'd better go and see to the children ..." She turned away and took a step towards the door. Her heart was fluttering like a hummingbird, and her legs trembled. Sam's hand found her arm and stopped her, drawing her around to face him.
"I'm sorry, Emma." He ran his hand through his hair, and Emma noticed for the first time the fatigue in the way he was sitting. "I didn't mean to hurt you ..."
Emma's lips curved in a weak smile. "Grief makes people do strange things. I'll put the dishes back in the morning."
"No." He reached up and cupped her chin. "It's time to let go of the past."
A curious warmth spread through her as his eyes met hers.
If only it was that simple.
Chapter 9
Sam yawned as he drew the wagon to a stop in front of the mercantile and climbed down from the seat. He was exhausted. How many more nights could he lie beside Emma and keep his hands off her? Not that he'd been keeping his hands off her, but at least he'd been able to control himself to some extent. It seemed every morning, after falling into a fitful sleep, he woke to find himself wrapped around her, her soft body snuggled into his. Much as he tried to will himself to stay on his side of the bed, it never worked. It was a good thing Emma was a heavy sleeper. He'd never known anyone to sleep so soundly.
He yawned again, rolled his shoulders to loosen them and went up the steps to the store. The bell jingled as he opened the door.
"Mornin', Sam," Libby called out from behind the counter. "What brings you to town in the middle of the week?"
"Emma tells me you have a litter of pups you're trying to get rid of."
Libby picked up a pencil and scribbled something on a piece of paper. "That's right. You interested in taking one off my hands?"
"The children want one. Couldn't think of a good reason why not."
Libby smiled. "That's real nice of you, Sam. Those children of yours have had a rough time of it. A dog might make it easier to get over losing their mother."
"It was Emma's idea," Sam told her, "not mine."
"She's really taken to those little ones of yours, hasn't she? Like she'd birthed them herself."
Sam considered that for a moment. Yes, he supposed she had. She treated them much the same as any mother would, except that he'd never seen a real mother heap as much loving on her children as Emma did.
And they were coming around, he had to admit. Even Nathan. Slowly but surely she was breaking down the wall he'd built around himself since Catherine died. He'd even caught the little boy laughing once or twice.
"Marrying Emma was the best thing you could have done for those children," Libby went on.
And for me. The thought sped through Sam's brain with the speed of a lightning bolt.
Libby screwed the lid back on a jar of sweets. "But you don't need me to tell you that."
"No, you don't." He knew that, but he wasn't going to discuss it with Libby Connor. Once he figured out his feelings in his own mind, he'd talk to Emma. Nobody else.
"So where are these pups?"
"Orville made a pen out back in the barn. Why don't you go on back and have a look at them? They're ready to leave their mama, so you can take one with you now if you want."
"Good. I'll head back there and pick one out." Sam turned to go outside, then paused in front of a mannequin in a display near the front window. It was wearing a pale blue silk gown the same shade as Emma's eyes. The neckline was low, and it had no sleeves. He could picture Emma wearing it, with her hair piled on her head the way it was for their wedding. The creamy skin of her neck and arms would be bare, and the neck dipped low enough that the swell of her breasts ...
He felt his blood heat as it rushed low in his belly. Damn! He had to stop thinking about that!
"It's pretty, isn't it?" Libby came up to stand beside him. "It's the style all the ladies are wearing in Paris, France these days."
"Really? Do you think Emma would like it?"
"I know she would. In fact, she looked at it last time she was in and said how beautiful it was."
He shouldn't even think about buying it for her. He couldn't afford to throw his money away on something like this. Hell, he could probably buy a couple head of cattle for the price.
"Would it fit her?" Sam asked.
"Perfectly."
It was a waste of money. When would Emma ever wear a dress like this? She sure wouldn't be wearing it while she was collecting eggs or scrubbing their clothes. And since they didn't have a social life to speak of, there was no special occasion for a dress so fancy. Unless ... she could wear it for him ...
"Wrap it up for me, Libby."
Libby smiled. "She'll love it, Sam."
"I hope so."
Sam wandered around the store as Libby carefully folded the dress and wrapped it in brown paper, then tied it loosely with string.
"Here you go," she said a few minutes later, handing Sam the package.
Sam tucked it beneath his arm, said goodbye, then went outside and tucked the parcel beneath the wagon seat.
His heart began to beat a little faster. Emma loved surprises, and he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she unwrapped his gift. Her excitement might be just the thing to change their relationship - in more ways than one.
"Orville?" he called out a few minutes later as he rounded the back of the building and headed towards a weathered barn-like building. "You out here?"
Orville appeared in the doorway, a harness in one hand and a rag in the other. "Well, howdy, Sam. What brings you into town on a Thursday?"
"Looking for a dog," Sam replied. "Emma has their heart set on getting one for the kids."
Orville laughed. "Well I got a whole pack of 'em right in there." The harness dangled from his hand as he lifted it and pointed towards the barn behind him. "Help yourself."
"Thanks."
With Orville behind him, Sam went inside.
"Over there," Orville said, pointing to a makeshift enclosure. "There's six of 'em. Take your pick. Hell, you can take them all if you've a mind to," he added in a sour tone.
Sam crossed the dirt-covered floor to the back corner of the barn. Soft mewling sounds floated in the air as he neared.
The mother lay stretched out on the straw, five bundles of toffee-colored fluff vying for a spot to nurse. A sixth pup, smaller than the others, dug his head into the middle of the fray, only to be knocked away by the bigger pups.
Sam watched as the pup tried again and again to feed. Finally, he gave up and wandered away, flopping to the straw in defeat. His sad eyes watched the other dogs as his head dropped to rest on his outstretched paws.
Sam could relate to how the little dog felt. He'd felt that way growing up more times than he could count. Being the son of a coal miner didn't give a boy a lot, and it seemed no matter how hard he tried to escape the poverty, he couldn't quite make it.
Until Catherine came along. Suddenly his life changed. Money, prestige, respect. And even love. Or so he'd thought. But it wasn't until later that he'd learned why she'd married him - to spite her father.
Hell, what was he doing thinking about that now? She was gone, and he was back where he started. Well, almost. He still had the respect and friendship of the folks in town.
And his family. He couldn't forget that. They were worth more to him than all the money in the world.
The pup was a little funny to look at, with his floppy ears and the snout that made him look like he'd smacked into a wall. But there was something about him that appealed to Sam. "Hey," Sam said softly, setting his thoughts aside. "Here, boy."
The puppy's gaze lifted to Sam, and his stubby tail began to wag. L
eaping up, he bounded across to where Sam was standing, his behind wiggling so hard he even lost his balance a few times. Sam laughed as he leaned over and picked the pup up.
The dog's tongue lapped at Sam's face.
He laughed. "Looks like you need a friend, boy." A wet tongue slid over Sam's cheek.
Orville walked up behind them at that moment.
"I'll take this one," Sam said.
"Hell, he's the puniest one of the bunch," Orville explained. "His ribs is practically sticking through his skin. What do you want that one for? You won't get any work out of him."
"He's not a working dog," Sam replied. "He's a pet."
"If you ask me, it's a waste of time and money feeding a dog that doesn't work."
"Just the same, I'm taking this one."
Orville shrugged. "Suit yourself."
"Good."
"I'll find something to put him in so you can take him home," Orville said, turning away.
A few minutes later, he returned with a wooden crate. Sam gently set the animal down on a bed of straw inside. Immediately, the puppy leaped against the side, trying to escape, yelping at the same time.
"If you change your mind, you can bring him back and get one of the others," Orville said as Sam carried the crate out to the wagon.
"I won't." Sam arranged the crate in the wagon bed, and climbed up. His glance caught the brown wrapping of the package he'd set beneath the seat, and his thoughts drifted to Emma.
She'd love the puppy. And hopefully, she'd love the dress he'd bought her, too. He'd wait until the children were in bed for the night to give it to her. Maybe she'd put it on. A wave of warmth flowed over him at the thought of her creamy skin exposed to him. Maybe he'd talk to her about it being time to make their marriage real. And maybe, if she agreed, he'd be the one to take the dress off.
***
The sun was hugging the horizon by the time Sam came over the ridge leading to the ranch. A cool breeze rustled the leaves on the trees. Smoke rose from the chimney of the house, and a soft light glowed from the windows. Home. Why did it seem so much cosier now? Was it because of the woman waiting there for him? He could picture her in his mind. Right about now, she'd be putting supper on the table. Her face would be flushed from the heat, and a few stray curls would frame her oval face. When he opened the door, she'd give him a welcoming smile that would heat his blood and make him want to grab her right there and kiss those full lips of hers.
Emma's Wish Page 10