Well, that settles it, Emma thought. She tried not to become hurt, but for some reason or another she was saddened. She chastised herself for even thinking the absurd thoughts about a man she’d hardly known and tried to hide the look of disappointment on her face by spearing a chunk of cornbread with her fork. It crumbled to pieces before it reached her mouth.
“I wouldn’t be so quick as to say that, Mr. Deakon,” Eliza said, a knowing smile on her lips. “Someday the right lady’ll come along and you’ll be swept off your feet before you can say ‘potato’!”
They watched as Thatcher stared at Eliza for a moment, motionless, until his lips curved slightly upwards. “You may be right, Mrs. Marchant,” he said. “You may yet be right.”
Emma dared a glance towards Thatcher, and her breathing quickened as his brown eyes were already bearing into her own, his smile slightly faded.
Finally, finally he looked at her! But soon, she began to regret it, feeling completely unraveled under his gaze. She wondered what he was thinking as he sat there staring, his eyes bewitching her own.
The conversation around them continued, but the two still looked at each other. Emma didn’t know to do, so she simply stared back.
Finally, and to her great joy, the man’s mouth opened in a wider smile, showing the crow’s feet near his eyes. Her heart fluttered as he gave her a wink, and her lips involuntarily returned his smile.
The sincere look in his eyes reassured Emma that he was not taunting or mocking her wretched state, and her breathing quickened because of it. What had happened to the silent, sullen Thatcher from before? Just when she thought she’d figured this handsome stranger out, he turned around and showed another side.
However, instead of getting frustrated with her lack of knowing, she decided to let it pass. After all, she couldn’t very well figure out a man after only one day of knowing him, now could she.
She tried to lessen her smile by taking another bite of cornbread, and it warmed her tongue.
Her thoughts of insecurity and previous humiliation were lessened as his smile continued, even though his gaze had moved down to the table yet again. At least she was comforted enough in that he was no longer scowling miserably.
“And what about y’all?” James questioned, a friendly smile across his handsome face. “How’d you come to live in Thundercreek and run this here inn?”
With something else to distract her, Emma listened as Seth answered for them. “Emma, our parents, Jenny and Warren, and I moved out here ’bout seventeen years ago when we were just kids. Our father got the inn to runnin’, but both our parents died within days of each other four years ago of the fever. We then ran the inn together up until I married Liza last year, and now we’ve got three to handle the load.”
“I’m sorry to hear ’bout your parents. That must’ve been hard to get through,” James said, compassion in his warm brown eyes.
Emma looked down to her plate, the amount of food having been only slightly lessened. It had been hard. It was the worst day of their lives, when Mama and Papa had died. She had since learned to look at what she had, though, and thanked the heavens that her brother had survived the outbreak with her.
“And your own parents?” Seth asked. “Where do they call home?”
The mood changed instantly around the table, and Emma looked to see Thatcher’s gaze return once more to his plate. James looked to Thatcher as if for permission but proceeded slowly, carefully, and Emma wondered why. “Our father lives in Pennsylvania, but our mama…” James glanced again to his older brother. When Thatcher kept his head down, he continued. “Our mother died a while back when I was eight, Thatcher ’bout ten or eleven. It was a tough time, so we know a part of what y’all have been through.”
The conversation quieted, and Emma looked at Thatcher in a new light, feeling a connection with him. Maybe she understood him more than she’d previously thought. Yet, as he glanced up from the table, she saw anger in his eyes, not the sadness she’d been expecting, not the sadness she was feeling herself.
After supper, the small group made their way to the parlor. The fireplace stood in the far back of the room with two couches, a cushioned chair, and a rocking chair all sporting velvet red cushions in a half-circle around the warm fire. Emma absentmindedly thought of how happy her father had made her mother when he’d bought the matching furniture set for a surprise on her birthday.
Everyone had chosen their seats already as Emma entered the room last, the only seat left being the rocking chair. Her stomach flipped as she saw Thatcher occupying the chair next to it. He was far too close. How could she bear it?
She froze in her spot but heard Eliza urge her on. “Go on, Emma, there’s a seat just there for you.”
Emma still hesitated, her cheeks aflame as she looked towards Thatcher. He gave her a wink and a smile that made her legs weak. Seth and Eliza were speaking with James, so Thatcher leaned forward and spoke softly, only Emma being able to hear. “Don’t worry, Miss Marchant. I ain’t goin’ to ravish you.”
Her eyes widened at his forward comment, and without another thought, she made her way to the rocking chair and seated herself, keeping her eyes directed at the floor. Not knowing what else to do, she remained silent.
She longed to be comfortable and confident, but Nancy Jane’s words had caused her to wonder if she really was a nuisance to the man and if he thought she was too old to bother with. But she could speak to him as a friend, right? After all, they sure wouldn’t be anything else.
Even though her heart lessened its ravenous beating, she was still unable to breath as she saw Thatcher lean his body towards her own, speaking softly once again as the rest of the conversations carried on. “I wanted to apologize for earlier,” he said, his arm propped against the chair. “Miss Tilman was rather…rude, wasn’t she?”
So he had noticed. Her cheeks burned red, and she shrugged. “It’s alright. I’m used to it.” She examined her hands wringing in her lap. A pang in her heart warned her not to think he was doing this because he cared about the hurtful things Nancy Jane had said to her. He was simply being a gentleman. Right?
“Yeah, well,” he said, leaning back in his chair and scowling once again, “I’m not used to it, and I don’t like it.”
Emma’s heart soared as she watched him cross his legs at the ankles and stretch the length of his body. Was he being truthful? Did he really not like the ninny?
She chastised herself for thinking rude thoughts about the girl again, but she couldn’t help herself. She also couldn’t keep her breathing steady when Thatcher’s arms flexed over his head as he stretched.
There he went again, back to being silent. She wished she could talk with him more, but she couldn’t get herself to speak up.
Emma emerged from her thoughts to hear James discussing his plans.
“As soon as I purchase the land, I’ll have to build a house right quick and then a barn. When those are done, I can bring Lucy out, but I have to get some clearin’ of the land done so I’ll be prepared come spring when I’ll have to plant.”
“I’ll be more than willin’ to lend a hand whenever you need it, buildin’ the house and everythin’,” Seth offered, nodding his head.
“I appreciate it, Seth,” James said. “Speakin’ of, it might take a while for the supplies for the house to arrive once I order them, and since the beds you got here are more comfortable than those rocks outside, we were goin’ to ask if it was okay to impose on y’all hear a little while longer. Only ’til the house gets along, ’course.”
“Oh, it’s no problem at all, Mr. Deakon,” Eliza said. Then, glancing towards Emma, she asked, “Isn’t that right, Em?”
Emma stared at Eliza, not sure what she had asked, being too distracted trying to distract herself from Thatcher’s thigh muscles bulging through his pants. She quickly replayed the conversation in her head and responded. “Oh, ’course not. You just stay here ’til you’re ready. You’re both more than welcome as long as you ne
ed.”
She had spoken to James but had watched Thatcher in her peripheral vision. He didn’t look towards her as she spoke, his brows remaining crinkled together.
Her attention was drawn to Seth as he said, “We’ll have to set up a barn raisin’ when the house is finished. Folks ’round these parts’ll be more than willin’ to help.”
Emma smiled as Eliza looked towards her, her eyes alight with excitement. “Oh, a barn raisin’!” she exclaimed. “We haven’t had one of them in ages!”
“That’d be mighty fine, Seth,” James said. “Mighty fine.”
Emma couldn’t help but feel excited as she thought of the possibility of dancing with Thatcher Deakon once the barn was completed. Of course, he probably wouldn’t even ask her. It was a nice thought, though. She looked towards the man on her mind, and her heart skipped a beat as his smoldering gaze was again upon her. Sakes alive, he was handsome.
***
That night as the evening ended and Emma lay in bed, tossing and turning in her restless state, she heard Thatcher’s footsteps and his jingling spurs climbing up the stairs and walking down the hallway. She held still, listening to him walk directly above her room, picturing where he was as he took each step. Stopping in front of his door to unlock it, walking into his room, sitting on his bed, taking off his boots one by one, taking off his shirt.
Good heavens! She rolled over to make more noise and pulled her pillow over her ears. She had to stop. He was a stranger, for crying out loud. She should not be thinking such thoughts.
Yet, she couldn’t stop the dreams that occurred of Thatcher’s brown eyes staring deeply into her soul.
***
Upstairs, Thatcher had a hard time falling asleep at all, his mind swirling with thoughts. He had let his guard down again, had let the beautiful woman affect him so deeply that he could hardly say a word all supper! Eating had managed to occupy his mind for a while, but after he’d devoured it much too quickly, he had planned to focus on the crumbs on the table, not wanting to look at Miss Marchant. Her denying his hand had offended him, hurt his pride, yet one innocent look from her was enough to melt his hardened heart like churned butter in the hot July sun.
The worst of it was that after he had smiled at her, and she had returned it, he simply couldn’t keep himself from flirting with her all over again! Thatcher shook his head and punched his pillow, trying to get it more comfortable. It didn’t work.
The pleasure he had received as her sweet dimples appeared on her red, blushing face warned him that he needed to stop his teasing and soon. He was enjoying it far too much, especially for what little time they had known each other.
His mind moved to Nancy Jane, her cruel words, and he cringed. He’d noticed when Emma had walked away that she’d removed the pretty wildflower from behind her ear, and that made him even more frustrated with the banker’s daughter, although, he should be grateful to her. That flower was more appealing than anything Thatcher had seen in a long while. He shuddered to think what he would be like after a week of the same interaction with the striking Miss Emma Marchant.
Knowing he couldn’t stay much longer in Thundercreek, Thatcher resorted to what always worked to get his mind off a woman: he thought of his mother, his beautiful, deceased, abandoning mother. Shame filled his mind, however, as he tried to compare the two stunning women, knowing even in that short amount of time that Emma was already leagues above his mother.
And that’s what scares me most, he thought, wrapping his arms around his pillow, trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to think anymore of her. He definitely needed to control himself more. He would be unapproachable from that point on, for Emma was appealing enough for the both of them!
Chapter Two
“I got some land south of here, only a few miles out,” said Mr. Andrews, the land office owner. He circled his finger around an area marked in red on a map that was spread out across his desk. “It should be just what you’re lookin’ for.”
“Sounds great,” James said, a big smile on his face as he eyed the sizable portion of land.
“It needs some work ’fore it can be farmed on. You know, lots of tree trunks to be removed and such, some pretty tough grass ’round these parts, too.”
“Oh, we were already plannin’ on that, sir,” James said, glancing to Thatcher who was standing in the background and allowing his brother to make his own decision about the property. “Do you mind if I check it out ’fore I sign anythin’ though?” James asked.
“Not at all,” Mr. Andrews said with a shake of his head. “You boys just head south out of town. If you go along the road ’til you hit the river, and then follow it east, you’ll be right there ’bout a mile’s walk in.”
“Thank you kindly, sir,” James said, standing up and shaking the gentleman’s hand. “I’ll let you know.”
“No problem, Mr. Deakon,” he said with a friendly smile, his long mustache curling up towards his cheekbones. He looked towards Thatcher, saying, “And what about you, son? Will you be lookin’ for some land to buy here, too?”
The question caught Thatcher off-guard, and he hesitated a second too long before giving his reply. He knew what the answer was, but did he want to give it? “No, thank you, sir. I ain’t got no reason to buy land.”
“Well, we’ll just have to change that right quick, now won’t we, young man?” Mr. Andrews smiled, his bushy eyebrows lifting high above his eyes, causing at least twenty wrinkles to form across his forehead. “Just wait ’til a nice little filly comes your way and ties you down. You won’t regret buyin’ land to be prepared for that!”
Thatcher’s thoughts immediately turned to Emma Marchant, and he hated to admit to it, but no, he wouldn’t regret something like that happening to him, not if it was with her. It wouldn’t happen, though, because he wouldn’t let it. “Maybe someday, sir,” he responded, not wanting to be rude. “I’ll let you know if it does.”
“When it does, son.” Mr. Andrews winked. “I’ll be seein’ you boys soon, then. Just let me know when you get back. If it doesn’t suit, we’ll find you somethin’ else.”
“Will do, Mr. Andrews,” James said, and the brothers walked out of the office, both putting on their hats as they stepped onto the boardwalk.
Thatcher heard James shuffling through the papers Mr. Andrews had given him with information about the land, and he thought about what the man had said. He found his mind wandering to the possibility of going back and buying property, fixing up the land, building a house, when suddenly, he realized where his thoughts were actually leading. What in the world was he doing? He knew better than to throw his life away like that. After all, he had vowed he would never marry after what his mother had done.
Shaking his head, Thatcher tried to dispel the thoughts that worried him, but he couldn’t help but wonder about his future. What was there left for him to do? What with his brother getting married, he was soon to be alone in the world. If he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life living in his father’s house or becoming a married man and farming, taking care of his wife, his children, what was he to do then? Squander away his time moving from town to town, alone for the next fifty years? The thought scared Thatcher, and uneasiness crept into his chest, constricting his breathing.
“Well, what do you think, Thatch?” James asked. “Should we go out there right now and check it out?”
He was still looking at his papers, and Thatcher was glad his brother couldn’t see how pale he had become, how scared his thoughts had made him. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Don’t see why not.”
James must’ve heard the strain in his voice, for he looked up as Thatcher rubbed his chest. “You alright, brother?”
Thatcher nodded. “Just a pain in my chest. It’ll be gone soon enough.”
“I can guess where it came from,” James said, looking knowingly at his brother. “It’s from tryin’ to keep yourself from talkin’ to Miss Marchant last night. You looked like you were goin’ to d
ie all night long, what with you not sayin’ nothin’.”
Thatcher rolled his eyes at his brother’s absurd observation, yet a new pain surged through his body. A pleasant pain, one that travelled up to his heart, made it beat faster, harder.
“Will you quit jumpin’ to all sorts of conclusions, James?” Thatcher grumbled. “It’s not like you know everythin’.”
They continued down the boardwalk, walking past the various small ownerships spread along the central street of town. “Well, I don’t know everythin’, Thatch,” James said, stopping and holding his brother’s arm to try to keep him from walking on. It didn’t work. “But I do know a little bit ’bout love. After all, it bit me hard on the backside.”
“Love?” Thatcher exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. One minute their talking about chest pains, the next their referencing love?
A mother with her two kids trailing behind her looked up in alarm at Thatcher’s outburst. He checked his temper and lowered his voice, ignoring another stare from the wary woman. “Who mentioned anythin’ ’bout love, James?” he whispered. “You’re a fool sometimes, you know that?”
James only laughed as Thatcher walked ahead of him, shaking his head. “You know it’ll happen sooner or later, brother!” James called, catching up to him. “And when it does, you just remember you’ve been warned.”
Thatcher raised his chin. “I don’t need to be prepared for nothin’, James. No girl will ever persuade me to love her.” And with that, Thatcher stormed in front of him.
He tried to regain his regular breathing, but when Emma and Eliza walked out of a house along the main road, giggling right in front of him, it became almost impossible to breathe at all. He hid his frown when his heart flipped at seeing the beautiful woman smiling happily, her dimples deepening as she laughed.
The Marchant women didn’t notice Thatcher or James and almost ran into them before Emma gasped, her laughter instantly ceasing.
A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance) Page 4