Emma's Wish

by Margery Scott

  Chapter 14

  Imperfect?

  Emma thought she was imperfect. She couldn't really believe that, could she? Hell, she was as close to perfect as any one human being could be.

  So what if she had a scar? Ten scars. Hell, he didn't care if she had three heads. He loved her, and for a few minutes there, he'd been pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

  Even now, standing alone on the porch with her scent still in the air, he was sure she cared about him. So what was the problem?

  It had to be more than just simple embarrassment over a scar. Didn't it? He didn't have a lot of experience with women, but surely they didn't think something like that would stop a man from being interested in them.

  Or maybe it was just Emma. Maybe other women wouldn't be so prickly about it, and it was something Emma alone had to deal with. Now that he thought about it, what was it she'd said about that fiance of hers? He wasn't the man she'd thought he was - wasn't that it?

  Was that why she hadn't married him? Had this Barclay character left her because she'd had an accident that had left her scarred?

  Okay, Sam thought, so maybe he should have handled it different. He wasn't used to ladies' feelings, and if it was so all-fired important to her, maybe he should have been a little more understanding. But hell, it was only a scar. It didn't mean anything. It sure as hell didn't make him care for her any less.

  But how was he going to convince her of that?

  Maybe he ought to go inside and show her a couple of his scars, like the one on his rump from when he caught his backside on a nail when he was twelve. Or the one just under his knee from when he was sixteen. He'd cut it the night he and Tommy Grange got caught sneaking a bottle of whiskey out of the inn Tommy's father owned. The pain in his knee had been nothing to what he'd suffered when his father found out what he'd done.

  Would it help to show her his imperfections? He'd gladly bare each and every one of the scars he bore from growing up in a rough neighborhood, and working with his hands every day.

  But Emma's scars weren't only on the outside, he realized. And it would take time for the hurt inside to heal. But he'd be there to help her heal. Because somehow, he had to show her he wasn't the least bit like that fiance of hers in Boston

  .

  ***

  All the next morning, Sam barely spoke to Emma. When finally he took the boys out to the back field after lunch, it was almost a relief.

  Emma was darning a hole in Nathan's shirt when Becky's squeal split the air. She bounded up from the chair and raced outside.

  Becky was standing in the yard, her attention on Apollo, who was busy worrying an object at her feet. As Emma got closer, she recognized the doll the Howards had bought for her at the mercantile.

  The dog's head swung furiously from side to side, a low growl escaping his mouth as he held on to the doll's arm. The doll flapped uncontrollably in his grasp.

  Crouching down, Emma grabbed Apollo's head and worked her thumb and fingers into the sides of his mouth. "Drop it, Apollo," she commanded.

  The puppy growled, but his mouth opened and the doll fell to the ground. Tail wagging, he eyed Emma with his huge brown eyes and began to lick her hand.

  Becky snatched up the doll and hugged it to her chest. "Bad doggie," she shouted, wagging her finger at the puppy. He looked up at her adoringly, and wagged his tail even harder.

  She turned her attention to the bedraggled doll in her arms. It was covered in dust, and one leg was torn, the stuffing bulging out. Tears filled her eyes, and overflowed down her cheeks. "Doggie broke my doll," she sobbed, holding it up for Emma's inspection. "Doggie is bad."

  "No," Emma explained, taking the doll and tucked the stuffing back inside. "You shouldn't have left it lying around where the dog could get it."

  "Me didn't."

  Emma gave her a stern look. "Are you sure? Where did you leave it?"

  Becky pointed to the rocking chair on the porch. "I leaved it up there."

  "Puppies chew things, Becky. You must be very careful not to leave your toys around."

  "But it's broke now," Becky went on, her voice rising to a squeal. "Doggie broke it."

  Sam appeared from behind the barn, Nathan and Joseph following behind. He raced across the yard, his breath coming in short gasps. "What's the matter?"

  Emma held up the doll. "Apollo chewed Becky's doll."

  "Is that all? Hell, I heard her screaming from the back pasture. It sounded like she was being murdered."

  Turning to Becky, he shook his head. "It's only a doll, Becky. Your ma can fix it." Then he looked up at Emma. "You can, can't you?"

  Emma nodded.

  "But it's broke," Becky insisted.

  Joseph took the doll from Emma and held it out to Becky, his fingers holding the torn fabric together. "It's just the outside that's torn."

  "But she'll be different now."

  Sam looked at Emma, his gaze steady and direct. "She might not look exactly like she did before, but that doesn't mean you can't love her just the same."

  "Yes, it does."

  "If Joseph or Nathan got torn, you’d still love them, wouldn’t you?"

  Becky's nose scrunched, and she frowned as she puzzled over the question. Then she grinned, her dimples deepening. "Me love Joseph. Me love Nathan."

  "It doesn't matter what the outside looks like, it's what's inside that counts," Sam said softly, his gaze still on Emma.

  Emma felt her face flush. Warmth spread through her. The children might believe he was talking about Becky's doll, but Emma knew the truth. His words were intended for her, and she was well aware he was voicing his feelings for her.

  Her heart began to flutter. As their eyes met, she felt her love for him swell inside until she could barely breathe. Her stomach knotted, and her fingers began to tremble.

  "Let me fix her for you." Emma's voice quaked when she spoke, and she cleared her throat. "I have a needle and thread handy right now. She'll be as good as new."

  Joseph gave Emma the doll, and she turned and went into the house. Sam's voice followed her. "Don't worry, honey," he was saying to Becky, "Your ma will fix her just fine. She'll have a little mark but you'll love her just like you did before."

  Emma felt her lips curve in a soft smile. She suspected his words were directed at her, and deep inside she wanted to believe he was sincere. If only she could trust him, she could give herself to him and she could have the life she'd always wanted.

  Maybe it was worth taking the chance.

  ***

  For the next two days, the problem weighed on Emma's mind. Sam had made it clear how he felt, and it was up to her whether to give him the chance to prove it.

  She was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn't notice the buggy coming down the road until she heard Joseph's voice call from the yard. "Ma! Those people are back."

  Emma picked up a dry towel and wiped the soapy water from her hands. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she crossed the parlor to the front door and opened it. Nathan and Joseph were on the porch, and Becky was curled up in the rocking chair, her doll clutched tightly in her arms. Their eyes followed Emma as she came down the steps to stand beside them. As she reached the bottom step, a buggy drew to a stop.

  The Howards. Not again.

  Emma's heart began to thud in her chest. What did they want?

  Mr. Howard slowly climbed down and brushed a wrinkle from his dark suit. Taking a white handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his forehead, then folded the fabric square and slid it back into his trousers pocket. Florence stayed in the buggy, giving Emma a barely civil nod of acknowledgement.

  "Good morning," Winston said. "Is Sam here?"

  Emma wished with all her might Sam would miraculously appear. But that wasn't likely. He and Fred had gone to a meeting of the cattlemen's association and wouldn't be home until very late. "No, he isn't. Is there something I can help you with?" she asked, forcing herself to be polite instead of ordering them off their propert
y.

  "We've come for the children."

  Emma's eyebrows lifted. What was he talking about? "I beg your pardon?"

  Winston sighed and gave his wife a knowing glance. "I'm not accustomed to repeating myself. We've come to take the children out for the day."

  Emma's brain whirled. Had Sam arranged for the children's grandparents to take them somewhere without letting her know? No, he wouldn't have done that. She couldn't imagine him ever allowing them to take the children anywhere.

  "We were fortunate to acquire tickets to a matinee performance of the opera in Fort Worth. Now get them ready, and be quick about it."

  Joseph and Nathan exchanged glances, but Emma couldn't tell if they were glances of anticipated pleasure or reluctance. By the way Joseph had referred to his grandparents as "those people", she assumed the latter.

  What should she do? For several moments, Emma stared at the stern face of Winston Howard. She hadn't had the misfortune to deal with this type of man often in the past, but she knew enough to realize he wouldn't take kindly to being refused. Sam would stand up to him and say no. She had to be strong enough to do the same. But they were family ...

  She nibbled on the inside of her lower lip as she tried to decide what to do. She hated confrontations, and she noticed the tell-tale signs - the trembling in her knees, the cold sheen of perspiration coating her skin.

  "Did Sam approve this?" she asked finally.

  Winston Howard's chest puffed out like an overstuffed turkey. "Madam, I am not in the habit of having my actions questioned." His glance slid over the boys, who had gradually slipped behind Emma. Nathan's head peeked out from behind her skirt. "Please change the children's clothes into something decent immediately. We don't have all day. The curtain goes up at 2 o'clock."

  Nathan's fist clutched Emma's skirt, and she saw his eyes widen. Joseph hung back, his glance darting around as if he was searching for a place to hide.

  It was obvious the children didn't want to go with their grandparents. And it was up to Emma to protect them.

  Putting on a false smile, she said, "I don't think Sam would agree to them going with you--"

  "Mrs. Jenkins," Winston interrupted, taking a step closer to her.

  Emma was tempted to back away, but forced herself to stand her ground. The man was trying to intimidate her, and if she gave him any indication his tactics were succeeding, she had no doubt he'd increase his bullying.

  Raising herself to her full height, she eyed him steadily. Nathan ducked behind her once again.

  "Do you have legal custody of the children?" Winston asked.

  Emma didn't really know. It had never been an issue. Sam was their father, and whether or not Emma legally had any rights where they were concerned had never been questioned. But she certainly wasn't going to let him know that. "Whether or not I have custody is really none of your concern."

  "As blood relatives, we do have rights as far as the children are concerned. Now we've wasted enough time. I'm not going to ask again. Please go and make them presentable, and we'll be on our way."

  Emma rankled at the tone of his voice. She'd heard people speak to their servants in the same condescending manner, and it had irritated her even then. Her anger was quickly overtaking her trepidation in dealing with the Howards.

  Taking a deep breath to quell the temper roiling inside, she spoke as calmly as she could. "I'm sorry, Mr. Howard," she lied, "the children have chores to do, and as their father isn't here to give his consent, I'm responsible for their well-being. Perhaps next time you should check with Sam--"

  "What? You're refusing?"

  Emma nodded. "That's right. The children aren't going anywhere with you, today or any other day. Now if you'll excuse us, we have work to do. And, like you, we don't have all day," she added pointedly.

  "Now listen here--"

  Emma took a step forward, craning her neck to meet Winston Howard's gaze. "No, you listen here. Those children are Sam's. And mine, whether I have legal custody or not. Until a court of law forces us to hand them over to you ..." She paused, realizing the children were standing only a few feet away and could hear every word she said. Turning her attention to them, she noticed the startled expression on their faces as they watched the exchange between Emma and their grandfather. They'd never seen Emma in such a state.

  "Joseph," she said, "you and Nathan go into the barn and start mucking out the stalls. I'll be there in a few minutes."

  "But--"

  "Now."

  Recognizing this was not the right time to argue, the boys turned and trudged across the yard, muttering between themselves. Becky was still rocking in the chair on the porch, her thumb firmly planted in her mouth, a sure sign she was afraid.

  Turning back to Winston, Emma continued. "As I said, until the law says you have a right to those children, they are staying here with Sam and me."

  Winston turned to his wife, whose mouth had dropped open, apparently in shock that someone dared to stand up to her husband. "You see, Florence, I told you it was impossible to reason with these people. Sam was always trouble. I knew it the minute I saw him. I took pity on him, and look at what's happened. We should never have allowed Catherine to get mixed up with the likes of him. Now he's found someone else exactly the same type as he is."

  Emma glared at him. "I take that as a compliment, Mr. Howard. Sam is the finest man I know."

  Winston laughed shortly. "Hmmph! He'll never be more than a dirt farmer."

  "He's a rancher, Mr. Howard. And even if he was a dirt farmer, that would be perfectly fine with me," Emma replied. "Now since we have nothing more to discuss, please go. I have a lot to do today."

  "What?" he blustered, his face turning a deep shade of red. "What did you say?"

  "I asked to you leave."

  A gasp from the buggy drew Emma's attention. Florence Howard was fanning herself with a snowy white handkerchief. "Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed.

  Winston went on. "Why ... why ... you insolent ..."

  For once, the man had lost the power of speech. But he made no move to leave. Instead, he stared her down. He still thought he could intimidate her.

  But that wasn't going to happen.

  "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" he asked finally.

  Emma met his gaze steadily. "Unfortunately, I know exactly the type of man I'm dealing with."

  "How ... dare you speak to me like that," he sputtered.

  "I also dare to warn you that in these parts, it's perfectly legal to shoot a man for trespassing. I have a rifle on the porch. And although I don't like to boast, I am a very good shot. You have exactly two minutes to turn that buggy around and head back to town."

  Mrs. Howard lifted a hand to her throat. "Well, I never--"

  "One minute and fifty seconds," Emma counted off.

  Winston Howard stood his ground for what seemed like an eternity. It was apparent he couldn't decide what to do. Finally, his wife called him. "Come, Winston. It's no use trying to reason with these people."

  Winston turned to his wife and nodded. "You're right, my dear," he said. "We'll let the law take care of them. We'll have plenty of time with the children once we're home." Then he turned to Emma. His voice was low, but the message was clear. "I don't take kindly to being threatened, madam. Opposing me is not wise. I'll see you in court."

  Turning, he climbed into the buggy. Without a backward glance at Emma, they drove off.

  Emma's knees were trembling, and she stood for several moments watching as the buggy disappeared behind the trees. Turning, she noticed the boys inside the barn door, watching the confrontation. How much had they heard?

  Her gaze shifted to Becky, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had dozed off in the chair, her arms still holding the doll tightly to her chest.

  Her knees threatening to buckle with every step, she walked over to the boys. "You okay?" Joseph asked as she came closer. "You look kinda ... white and shaky."

  Emma ruffled his hair
. "I'm fine, Joseph."

  "They're mean, ain't they?" Nathan asked. "They bought us presents and stuff, but still, they don't like us so much."

  Emma's brows lifted. Nathan seemed to have a fair bit of insight into human nature.

  "What makes you say that?" she asked.

  Nathan shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm glad they're gone."

  Emma sighed. "Me, too, Nathan. Me, too."

  For the rest of the afternoon, she worked, but she couldn't stop thinking about the events of the morning. Would Sam be angry with her? She didn't think so, considering he'd almost bodily thrown the Howards off his property the last time. Would he think she was wrong?

  Perhaps she'd made matters worse. Perhaps they were trying to be amicable, and she'd ruined any chance of them coming to an agreement about the children.

  She wished Sam would come home so she could talk to him, explain why she'd lost her temper. She only hoped he'd understand.

  The day dragged interminably. She certainly had enough work to keep her busy, but her thoughts kept returning to the events of the morning and Mr. Howard's veiled threat. What else could he do to them?

  They'd find out soon enough, she thought wryly, glancing at the calendar on the wall behind the kitchen door as she looked out yet again for any sign of Sam's return.

  They'd find out in six days.

  Chapter 15

  The courthouse sat in the center of a large expanse of green lawn. It was a two-storey red brick building with tall white columns flanking oak double doors in the centre.

  Emma's gaze was drawn to the portico above the doors. Engraved in the bricks were the words Fiat justitia, ruat caelum - Let justice be done, though the heavens should fail. She prayed that was true.

  Sam held his hand for her to climb down from the wagon. She smoothed the skirt of her dress with trembling fingers, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Reaching up, she adjusted her bonnet to cover her hair.

  The bonnet had been Jonas's suggestion, as had been the slate grey dress she was wearing. She had never liked this particular dress, but now she was thankful she hadn't thrown it away. In this case, it was important to look as matronly as possible.