“I hope the room is fine for you both,” she said. Her nerves continued to settle as she became as comfortable as she could be walking with such a handsome man.
“Oh the room’ll do just fine, I’m sure,” Thatcher said, looking at her. “James has taken a likin’ to it. He fell asleep in seconds.”
Emma smiled. “I’m so glad.”
She dared a glance up at him, and he gave her a wink. The kindness in his eyes spoke to her soul, but his smile caused her nerves to jumble yet again, the tingling sensation in her fingers increasing. “It’s lucky you boys came when you did,” she said, grateful her voice remained steady as she tried to distract herself again from the muscles in his forearm. “Last week we were completely filled.”
“Really? Do you get much business out here?”
Their pace slowed as they walked down the boardwalk together, and Emma fancied it was because Thatcher wanted his time with her to last longer.
Hopeless, she thought.
“The summer is mostly busy,” she said, “but it lessens once the end of August comes ’round.”
A comfortable silence arose, and Emma tried to hide the blush on her face as one of the young women of the town looked at her enviously. She ignored the feelings of anxiety that came whenever attention was on her and instead focused on Thatcher’s arm that held her steady.
“So where are your—”
“Yoo hoo!” came an obnoxious cry from the right side of town, interrupting Thatcher’s question.
Emma felt her smile fade, and she grimaced, her heart thudding to the pit of her stomach. She knew that shout. Nancy Jane Tilman.
Anxiety returned as she watched the southern belle prance across the street towards them. She had a mind to keep walking, to simply ignore the fact that the girl had called out, but her legs froze. Thatcher stopped walking when she did, and he looked down to her, his gaze questioning as her grip tightened on his arm.
His arm! She was still holding his arm! Instantly, Emma withdrew her hand and tried to ignore the look Thatcher gave her. She put her head down as soon as Nancy Jane reached them and tried to look invisible. His eyes continued to burn holes right through her, but she couldn’t bear to look up, knowing Nancy Jane would be watching her, as well.
“Well, well, Miss Marchant.” Nancy Jane’s southern accent rang out like a crystal bell. “Looks like you’ve found my Thatcher already. My, you do get around, don’t you?”
Emma’s ears burned red as Nancy Jane claimed her territory with her acid remarks. She couldn’t believe the girl was throwing around first names like she and Thatcher were already friends. Were they? Had they met before? She watched as Nancy Jane tossed a long blonde lock over her shoulder.
Nancy Jane was the banker’s daughter, and the whole town knew it. The Tilman family came from deep Georgia many years prior, and even then, Nancy Jane, four years younger than Emma, had harassed her day after day about how ineligible she was to marry, being nineteen and “too old to attract the eyes of a man.” As years passed, Emma reached the age of twenty-two, and Nancy Jane became worse, so Emma simply stopped standing up for herself, eventually believing Nancy Jane’s predictions of her becoming a spinster.
Her voice hardly above a whisper, Emma said, “Mr. Deakon and his brother are stayin’ at the inn. He asked if he could walk me home, that’s all.”
***
Thatcher couldn’t believe what he was seeing. What was Emma doing? He’d never seen a woman react that way before to another female. The second Nancy Jane had called out to them, Emma had gone stone cold, her gaze focused on the boardwalk, and he knew it wasn’t because she was shy. He broke his gaze and looked to the blonde flirt who stood smiling insincerely towards Emma.
The first thing James and he had done in Thundercreek was visit the bank to make sure James’s loan could come through there. Nancy Jane had bounded down the stairs once she’d heard new voices and had proceeded to throw herself all over James until he announced he was engaged. Instantly, she had moved onto Thatcher. He knew at first look what kind of girl Nancy Jane was. She was immature, spoiled, selfish, and willing to do anything to get her hands on a man. Anything, including hounding the beautiful Miss Marchant.
Why was Emma not standing up for herself, though? Why did she feel the need to explain her actions to this pompous girl? Emma was older and far more beautiful. With only a few words and moments with Emma, he knew he preferred her conversation and company over the blonde’s any day.
***
“I’m sure you don’t need Thatcher here for that. You can find your own way home.” Nancy Jane flashed a smile that appeared as more of a sneer. “Anyway, don’t you have cookin’ or somethin’ to be doin’ right now? Rather than botherin’ poor Thatcher here after his long journey.”
Emma’s cheeks burned as she realized that Nancy Jane was right. She probably was bothering him.
“I’m fine, Miss Tilman,” Thatcher assured her. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a walk to finish.”
He reached for Emma’s hand to place it back on his arm, but she immediately pulled it away, not wanting him to feel obligated any longer. After all, he probably would rather spend his time with a beautiful blonde than her boring old self. “I’m fine, Mr. Deakon,” she said, her gaze remaining down. “I’ll go and leave you two, then.”
She turned on her heel and started walking away when Nancy Jane’s poisonous voice rang out once again. “Oh, and Miss Marchant?”
Emma wished she could just continue, but she stopped and looked over her shoulder anyway.
“That flower in your hair looks awful cute,” Nancy Jane said, “even if it don’t help your age. Because, honestly, there ain’t no foolin’ us when it comes to how old you truly are!”
Tears filled Emma’s eyes, and her cheeks were aflame in seconds. The wildflower! It had been behind her ear all day long! How could she have forgotten to take it out?
She quickly removed it from its spot, turned around again, and walked briskly to the inn, not bothering to cast a second glance towards Thatcher.
Humiliated and hurt, she tried to hold back her tears as she chastised herself for being so foolish. She had actually thought Thatcher had wanted to walk with her, but no, he was simply being the gentleman who was nice to the town’s spinster. That was made perfectly clear by Nancy Jane.
Emma opened the door to the inn and rushed back to her room before Eliza or Seth could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. She knew she shouldn’t let Nancy Jane’s comments get the better of her, but she couldn’t help it.
Plopping down onto her bed, she stared at the wooden floor, trying to keep her tears to a minimum. However, they wouldn’t cease as she thought of how the comment was not only simply rude to say, but that it was made ten times worse with Thatcher being there to hear it.
She opened her fisted hand where the purple wildflower lay crushed in her palm, the petals wilted and shriveled. Frustration caused by embarrassment overcame her, and she ripped the small flower in two, throwing the pieces to the floor. She still couldn’t believe she had been so childish as to even pick the wildflower in the first place. The man must have thought she was as desperate as Nancy Jane.
She tried to tell herself that she didn’t care what he thought, that he was only a stranger. Besides, if the man liked Nancy Jane and could stand listening to her for longer than a few of her twanged sentences, than that was fine and dandy with her. She didn’t care.
Yet, for some reason, she did. And that was the worst of it all.
Little ninny, she thought, pushing aside her shame at the girl’s remarks while trying not to focus on a man as kind as Thatcher Deakon fancying someone the likes of Nancy Jane Tilman.
***
Thatcher stared down the boardwalk in confusion, wondering what had just happened. In a matter of seconds, he had gone from walking next to a beautiful Emma with a pretty wildflower in her hair to standing with the too-sure-of-herself Nancy Jane whose eyes were those of a black
and yellow snake. At least he understood why Emma had tensed up when they’d first heard Nancy Jane headed their way.
Still, how could Emma have just accepted the horrible things Nancy Jane had said to her and simply walk away? His confusion and hurt increased as he thought of how she had pulled her hand away from his, and he realized that maybe he had been imagining things before. When they were talking, she seemed comfortable and at ease, like they were more than acquaintances, friends, even. Yet, soon enough, she treated him like a fever to be rid of.
As if it mattered. He’d be out of the town as soon as he could. It’d be best not to get wrapped up and form too much of a relationship anyway, even if it was only a friendship.
Nancy Jane pulled on his arm, urging him down the boardwalk, and he emerged from his thoughts. “Come on, Thatcher, Daddy has supper already ordered for us.”
He shook his head, saying, “I’m sorry, Miss Tilman, but I’ve already promised to attend another’s supper.”
He wasn’t about to let this little girl take possession of him. Now Emma, on the other hand…He stopped his thoughts before they continued. No. He wasn’t going to have supper with Nancy Jane that night or ever. Not after what she had said about the wildflower in Emma’s hair. He knew that girl was plain jealous of Emma and her beauty, but it didn’t give her the right to be downright nasty about it.
“You don’t mean to tell me you’re goin’ to eat with the Marchants?” Her dubious expression scratched at Thatcher’s patience.
“Yes, I am,” was all he said. He’d rather spend suppertime with a woman who’d spurned him than a woman who drove him crazy. “Thanks, anyway.”
Pouting dramatically, Nancy Jane flipped her hair behind her shoulder, twirled around, and huffed away. Thatcher sighed with relief. Finally he’d shaken loose of her claws. For a while, at least.
Turning around once more to face the Marchant Inn, Thatcher strengthened his resolve. He’d unconsciously faltered, but he wouldn’t again. No, Miss Emma Marchant had her chance to swoop in when he was unaware. Luckily, he’d realized the danger he was in before he got too tangled up in her soft brown hair. Not literally, of course.
Yet, as he walked back to the inn, he couldn’t help but think of the way she had played along with his bantering in the livery, how her kindness increased as he showed his own. There was a spark in her blue eyes, but it had diminished in an instant. His thoughts wandered then to discovering what that spark was, forgetting all about the resolve he had just restored.
***
“Mmm mmm mmm, sister,” Seth Marchant said, sitting at the head of the table with his mouth full of food. “This fried chicken is the best I ever did taste.” His blue eyes shone with mischief as he turned to his wife and said, “Except for yours, Eliza, ’course.”
Everyone at the table laughed as Eliza, sitting between her husband and Emma, rolled her eyes. Emma smiled at their playful teasing and fought the urge to look towards Thatcher, who was sitting right across from her. She slipped her feet as far under her own wooden chair as possible, trying to avoid any accidental touch that could very well happen under so small a table.
“Glad you like it, Seth,” Emma said, nodding towards her older brother of two years.
“It is a mighty fine meal, Miss Marchant,” James said, shoveling a spoonful of sweet potatoes in his mouth.
Emma smiled and tipped her head down, staring at the plate in front of her. She moved the fork over her food that had hardly been touched on her plate and tried to find the desire to eat. She was pleased, very pleased, that the meal had turned out so fine, especially for Tha— for their guests, but she just couldn’t bring herself to eat much of it. She had an inkling why.
The pleasant conversation continued, and Emma finally dared a glance towards Thatcher. She was strangely disappointed as she saw him looking down at his already empty plate and not at her. ’Course he wouldn’t be lookin’ at you, ninny, she thought, shaking her head. At least he seemed to like the food. He had devoured his whole serving in less time than everyone.
Emma scanned the table to see if they were running low on anything and noticed the empty marmalade bowl. She reached across the table to retrieve it and then stood and walked to the kitchen that was joined to the dining area by an open door. Hearing the laughter of the men and Eliza’s giggles, she tried to ignore any previous thoughts of hope she’d had before, back when Thatcher pulled her hand to his arm, when he flirted with her about sharing her room if he could. This man was probably just like the rest: not interested in an old spinster like herself, only in tempting women with what they couldn’t have. He was no doubt interested in a beautiful young blonde, though.
Emma felt hot all over again as she grabbed the jar of marmalade from the middle cupboard, thinking of how Nancy Jane had humiliated her, putting her back in her miserable, lonely place. The embarrassment she usually felt around the girl was increased tenfold with a handsome man there to witness it but having to be in his presence afterwards was far worse and caused her to itch with anxiety.
She wondered why he had hardly said a word all supper. Had she offended him by leaving him in the street with Nancy Jane? She scoffed at herself as she filled the bowl spoon by spoon with the sticky substance. He was probably remaining quiet because he had to eat with them and not the blonde Georgia peach. Either way, she was glad Thatcher wasn’t speaking to her. If he made another flirtatious comment, she was sure he would only be mocking her spinster-like state.
She wondered if Thatcher thought that what Nancy Jane had said to her was rude, but she realized it didn’t matter. It was her own fault Nancy Jane was that way to her, and it wouldn’t ever change. She was too much of a coward to stand up for herself.
She placed the jar in the cupboard and brought the bowl back to the room, trying not to focus on Thatcher who was still directly in her line of sight as she set it on the center of the table. Seth immediately seized a spoon of it, slathering it over his piece of cornbread and thanking Emma for getting it. She smiled to her brother as she pulled her chair out, the wood creaking when she resumed her previous position.
“So what brought you boys here?” Eliza asked, brushing crumbs off of her enlarged belly.
“I’ve come lookin’ for land for me and my fiancée,” James announced, a proud smile on his face. “And Thatch here has been helpin’ me find my way.”
“Oh! You’re engaged? How excitin’ is that!” Eliza squealed, clapping her hands together. “What’s her name?”
Amused, Emma watched James light up at the opportunity to talk about his love, but she couldn’t help but wonder at the same time if Thatcher had a special someone, too. She knew it wasn’t likely if he had taken an interest in Nancy Jane.
Glancing quickly towards him, she noticed his eyes were still fixated on his plate. Well, he doesn’t look like he’s in love, Emma thought as she noted his dark brows pulled together.
“Her name’s Lucy Martin,” James said, retrieving a small paper from his right shirt pocket. “She lives with her family in Illinois, but once I get my farm set up, she’ll be movin’ out here with me. This is her.”
He handed a crinkled photo over to Eliza, and Seth and Emma leaned over to get a closer look at the portrait of James’s Lucy. “She’s beautiful, Mr. Deakon,” Eliza said, and Emma nodded as she examined the young woman, her hair flawlessly pulled back in a soft chignon and clothes expertly tailored.
So this was the kind of woman who attracted a Deakon brother. A woman like Nancy Jane, Emma thought with despair. Like it mattered to her anyway.
“Yes, she is pretty,” he said as Eliza handed the photo back to him. He smiled at the picture once again before tucking it securely back in his pocket. “I haven’t seen her for over three months now. Thatcher and I have been goin’ on cattle drives all summer long to earn enough money to buy me some land. I just ’bout got enough to finally bring her on out here, so I’m lookin’ forward to it.”
“Where’re you lookin’ for land?�
�� Seth said, his mouth full of chicken. Eliza gave a little shake of her head, encouraging her husband to wait until he swallowed, but he only smiled back.
“Just right close to here,” James said. “We passed through a town a few miles back, but the landowner said there’s more ’round these parts, so we came to check it out. Goin’ to the land office in the mornin’.”
Emma’s heart flipped at the thought of Thatcher staying in town for a while longer. She knew she would only be further humiliated around him if Nancy Jane had any say in the matter, but she didn’t care at that moment.
She continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye and wondered again what had caused his silence. Was it the same thing that had caused her own?
“It’ll be nice to have my Lucy out here so we can start our life together.” James shoved the last of the food from his plate into his mouth and swallowed it in one gulp.
“And what about you, Thatcher?” Eliza said as she passed an innocent smile at Emma then back to the man who finally looked up from the table. “Do you have a nice girl of your own waitin’ for you?”
Before Thatcher could respond, James burst out in a fit of laughter. Emma exchanged glances with Eliza then looked back to James, wondering what was so funny.
James wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and said between laughs, “Thatcher here ain’t been courtin’ a lady since he was twelve years old!” and he proceeded to chuckle some more.
Emma’s heart flipped. Did he not have a beautiful lady waiting for him back home as his brother did? If he hadn’t been courting anyone since he was a boy, that meant he didn’t have any intentions towards Nancy Jane, right? But that also meant that he wouldn’t have any intentions for Emma either. Not that it really made a difference to her. She was only curious.
The occupants of the table all looked to Thatcher who was glaring at his brother. “Now that’s a lie, little brother, and you know it. I just ain’t the marryin’ type, that’s all.”
A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance) Page 3