“Well, good mornin’, boys,” Eliza chirped, her smile still visible, unlike Emma’s.
“Good mornin’,” James responded, grinning.
Thatcher kept his eyes on Emma as he tipped his hat. “Ladies.”
Satisfaction rose inside him as he saw her immediately look down, her cheeks blushing rosily, matching the wallpaper in his room. Perhaps the pink roses weren’t as bad as he’d thought.
“What are you both up to this fine day?” Eliza asked.
Thatcher watched as Emma looked up to him again, adjusting her bonnet to see up to his full height. The blue ribbons from her bonnet were untied and blew softly around her in the wind.
“We just finished at the land office and now we’re goin’ to go look at a piece of land,” James said. “It’s only just south of here.”
“Well, that’s good news! It’ll be wonderful havin’ you as neighbors,” Eliza said.
***
Emma tried to keep her eyes from trailing off towards Thatcher, but they were traitorous no matter how hard she struggled. The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his eyes, making the scruff on his face look even more appealing.
“Sure will,” James agreed. “Now all we have to do is hope the land suits well.”
“I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” Eliza said.
“I hope so,” he said with a smile. “And where are you two ladies headed?”
Emma knew she should speak up, take a part in the conversation, but her tongue seemed to be in a knot for some reason. At least she knew she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t speaking.
“We just came from my folks’ house,” Eliza said. “As a matter of fact, we were talkin’ ’bout you both, weren’t we, Em?” She blinked at her friend, motioning for her to speak.
Emma only nodded, her face blushing furiously as her mind recalled the things they had been speaking about. How attractive Thatcher was, how nice his pants fit. Yes. They were talking about them. She hoped Thatcher couldn’t read her mind, but as their eyes met, the corners of his lips that turned up in a hidden smile made her tremble.
“Yes, we were,” Eliza continued when Emma didn’t. “And Emma just wanted to ask you somethin’.”
Emma stared at Eliza and wondered if it would make too much of a scene to rip one of Eliza’s sleeves off for being so impertinent. Of course she would never do that, but the thought was satisfying if nothing else. “Go on,” her friend dared to urge.
“It’s not really my place to ask,” Emma said, staring pointedly at Eliza who only smiled back. She looked back to the two towering men before her and tried not to feel intimidated as she continued. “But Mrs. Reilly, Eliza’s mother, wanted to invite you both to supper tonight. You’d be more than welcome to join us, and that way y’all would get a nice meal still.”
Emma could hardly breathe after her words came out in one big rush. When Mrs. Reilly had spoken to her and Eliza, asking them to invite the men over for that evening, the mother and daughter had devised the horrible plan to have Emma ask them just so she’d speak up and become more comfortable around them. Well, her asking made her feel more silly than comforted.
“That’d be mighty nice, Miss Marchant,” James said courteously.
Her discomfort decreased at the kind man’s acceptance, and she looked to Thatcher, his brown eyes crinkling at the sides. He opened his mouth to respond, but the door to the bank swung open behind them, and Emma rolled her eyes as Miss Nancy Jane pranced out in the pinkest dress and most matching parasol she’d ever seen. The flamingo wiggled her way in between the brothers and forced her hands through their arms to rest in the crooks of their elbows.
“If I do believe my ears,” Nancy Jane said as she twirled a golden lock around her long, slender finger, “y’all are fixin’ on havin’ a nice supper tonight! I would love to come! It’ll just be so much fun to have us all together, talkin’ and speakin’ and the like!”
Emma felt sickened and examined the dusty boardwalk while everyone else remained silent. She couldn’t believe the girl had just invited herself to a private supper, but she wasn’t about to say she couldn’t come. That would be just too wonderful.
“Well,” Eliza stammered, “It’s short notice, and Mama was only plannin’ on just the few of us…”
A smart person would’ve taken the hint.
Nancy Jane wasn’t smart.
“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t mind findin’ a seat for the banker’s daughter, now would she?” Nancy Jane batted her eyes at Thatcher as she flaunted her father’s position. Her viper gaze then moved pointedly to Eliza.
Emma looked up to see her sister-in-law’s face turn red from anger. Eliza was never one to take guff from anyone, least of all Nancy Jane, but she wouldn’t be rude. Emma slid her arm through Eliza’s to support her, to let her know she was there even if she couldn’t speak up.
“I’m sure my mother would be happy to put one more place at the table, Miss Tilman.”
The strain in Eliza’s voice was clear enough for all to hear, but the pink tart didn’t seem to care. She squealed with delight, causing Emma to wonder if the men were now deaf from the noise.
Looking up to Thatcher, her heart pounded in her chest to see him watching her with a narrowed gaze. Feeling unnerved by his brown eyes and annoyed with the pink lady next to him, Emma said, “If you’ll excuse me,” and briskly removed her arm from Eliza’s, turning away with a small nod of her head.
Eliza quickly followed suit, wishing them a good day and leaving the men to deal with the flirting Nancy Jane.
“The nerve of some people,” Eliza said before they were even a few steps away. “I’ve a mind to put Nancy Jane in her place. Invitin’ herself to Mama’s supper. The audacity of the girl.”
Emma only nodded, thinking how the perfectly good evening would be ruined by the attendance of one too many women.
Eliza interpreted the silence and placed a comforting arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Don’t you worry, Em. Tonight’ll be fun even with Miss Pink. Trust me.”
Emma smiled at her encouragement and prayed to high heaven she was right.
***
Thatcher scanned the land with James, both brothers pleased with what they were seeing. “This is a mighty fine area, James,” Thatcher said, nodding his head with approval. He crouched down and grabbed a handful of the rich soil then let it slide through his callused fingers as he stood. “You’ll get some nice crops growin’ here.”
“I think I’m goin’ to buy it,” James said, taking a few steps forward. “I can just see it now.” He pointed towards an already cleared area shaded by the long reach of branches from the nearby trees. “The house’ll go there, the barn not too far off, the crops’ll behind them, and an orchard could be planted right close to the river.”
James’s excitement soon rubbed off on Thatcher, and he was grateful for the small distraction it brought. Goodness knows he needed it. Nancy Jane squeezed all the joy from him whenever he heard that squealing little voice of hers, and now he had to endure it all supper long. What a chore that would be.
“Boy, I can’t wait to get Lucy out here.” James walked back to Thatcher after his perusal of the land. “She’s just goin’ to love it.”
Thatcher smiled. “I’m sure she will, James. We just have to get goin’ on the house first, though, I think.”
James yelped with joy and said, “Let’s just get started now then!”
Thatcher smiled, pleased that his brother was so happy. They walked back to their horses tied under a nearby tree, and Thatcher wondered if he could ever be so happy himself.
***
Spending the rest of the day with tense knots in her back served only to unsettle Emma’s nerves further. She could think of nothing more she wanted to do than have another evening spent in the presence of Thatcher Deakon. Yet, there was nothing more she didn’t want to do than spend that same evening with Nancy Jane. Her mind constantly conjured up thought after thought of dismay and worry.
“Well, supper’s ready,” Mrs. Reilly said as they all sat in the parlor. “We’ll get started as soon as Miss Tilman arrives.”
“I’m sorry ’bout that again, Mama,” Eliza said.
“Nonsense, sweet pea,” her mother responded. “Don’t you worry your little heart about it. I’m used to the Tilmans and their wily ways.”
Mrs. Reilly winked, and the group laughed together. Emma stole a glance at Thatcher whose eyes crinkled as his smile broadened.
Waiting another twenty minutes for Nancy Jane, Emma became restless, shifting to try to relieve the pain in her back. She couldn’t believe the nerve of Nancy Jane, first inviting herself to supper and then being late to it.
Yet, as the banker’s daughter arrived thirty minutes later, Emma couldn’t help but feel the desire to have her walk right back out the door she came from.
“Oh my!” Nancy Jane exclaimed as she stepped into the parlor. “Were y’all just waitin’ on me?”
Emma wasn’t surprised to find the girl in a different dress, purple instead of her usual pink.
All remained silent as Mr. Reilly stood from his seat and said, “Glad you could make it, Miss Tilman.”
Emma fancied he was lying, but she knew him and the courtesy he treated all people with, even rude, obnoxious pink-dress wearers who invited themselves to other people’s suppers.
They made their way to the dining area, commenting on how delicious the food smelled. Emma moved to pull a chair out at the far end of the table, her heart racing as Thatcher stepped around her and took the back of the chair in his hand, pulling it out for her. She looked up to him and smiled, nodding her ‘thank you’ as she sat down.
He winked at her, and she felt dizzy with excitement. Her eyes darted around, looking at each person to see if they’d noticed the wink, but her nerves were settled as she realized it was just shared between herself and Thatcher. However, as she saw him pull the chair out next to her for himself, her heart threatened to flutter right up in her throat. He was sitting by her! What do you think about that, Miss Nancy Jane? she thought as she quelled the desire to shout with joy.
In the next instant all joy was gone as Nancy Jane somehow managed to slip her purple-dressed body into Thatcher’s seat right before he moved to sit down.
“Oh, do excuse me, Thatcher,” Nancy Jane said, smoothing the lap of her dress. “I simply must sit right here in the middle. I just can’t stand to sit at the ends of tables. They do me quite in.”
Emma wasn’t sure if she wanted to roll her eyes, throw up, or burst into tears, but Thatcher, of course, nodded his head and moved to the seat at the other side of Nancy Jane, unfortunately the only one remaining.
Feeling Nancy Jane’s gaze on her, Emma looked up to see venomous green eyes. The look was one of warning, and Emma glanced away immediately. Fighting Nancy Jane wasn’t worth it. The girl would no doubt win in the end.
The evening progressed, the meal finished, and the small group moved to the parlor where they continued to converse. No one had said much at all during supper except for the chief director of conversation, Nancy Jane, and afterwards was no different.
“It’ll be nice to have the weather coolin’ down soon,” Seth said, as Nancy Jane took a breath. “This summer’s been a hot one.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” James said. “Runnin’ those herds of cattle this year was much harder than before.”
“That ain’t ’cause of the heat, little brother,” Thatcher said with a smirk. “It’s ’cause you’re gettin’ old.”
They laughed, and Emma again snuck a glance towards Thatcher’s crinkled eyes. They made him seem so much more approachable, so much more, dare she say, adorable.
“Well, y’all have felt no heat ’til y’all go down South,” Nancy Jane chimed in. “That place is hotter than a basket of eggs on fire! I do declare that I have never been hotter than under a Georgia sun!”
Clenching her teeth together, Emma fought the urge to speak her mind. She had just about had enough of Nancy Jane topping everyone’s stories with her own.
“Well, I’m sure we wouldn’t know,” Eliza said, “’cause none of us has ever been down there. But I do know one thing. Bein’ pregnant sure does make a woman dreadful hot!” She fanned herself with her hand, emphasizing her point.
Emma smiled, happy her friend had stopped the purple princess for at least a second.
Well, a half a second.
“Oh I wouldn’t know that, ’course, Eliza,” Nancy Jane said, “seein’ as how I ain’t married…yet.” She giggled when she paused and glanced towards Thatcher.
Emma also looked towards the handsome man, but his gaze was elsewhere. He hardly seemed to notice the blunt woman’s remarks, much to Emma’s relief.
“Someday, Nancy Jane,” Mrs. Reilly said, patting her hand.
“Yes, y’all don’t worry ’bout that. I’ll get married to a handsome man soon enough,” she continued, resting her hands on her lap, pink lips perfectly pursed, “seein’ as how I’m eighteen and the most eligible gal in town.”
She looked pointedly at Emma, but Emma refused to look up, swirling her drink around in the cup on her lap and pretending not to listen.
When the room remained silent, Nancy Jane took it as her cue to continue. “Yes, I do declare I’ll soon be married, and my husband won’t never want for nothin’. I’ll give him strappin’ young boys, too. The whole kit and caboodle!”
It was hardly proper to speak of such things, especially in the presence of unmarried men and women, but Nancy Jane forged on. “Yes, I am just so thrilled for the chance to have my little young’uns runnin’ ’round me all the time. ’Course, not all of us’ll have that chance.”
Emma looked up to see Nancy Jane staring pitifully at her, and she knew the girl was referring to her. Cheeks flaming red, she tried to think of something to say to defend herself, but her courage failed in front of so many people.
“What do you mean, Miss Tilman?” Eliza questioned.
“I’m merely pointin’ out the same thing y’all are thinkin’, that not everyone will have the opportunity to be wedded and have children. Some of us are…are past our prime, so to speak.”
Silence filled the small parlor, and all eyes, except for Thatcher’s, were directed at Nancy Jane.
When Emma saw him focusing intently on herself, she prayed to turn invisible. How could she manage to live after this humiliation? She knew she was old, useless, and would forever remain that way, but did Thatcher know it, too? If he didn’t know after the flower fiasco, he sure would now.
Only a few moments passed before Eliza came to Emma’s aid. “Why, Miss Tilman, what a very rude thing to say.”
Nancy Jane defended herself, but Emma didn’t care to hear what she had to say, focusing instead on her intense desire to leave. Without further thought, Emma stood, saying, “Mr. Reilly, Mrs. Reilly, thank you for supper.” She placed her cup on the center table and walked towards the doorway of the parlor. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She turned on her heel, intent on getting out of there as quickly as possible, but Thatcher’s deep voice stopped her movements. “Miss Marchant, allow me to walk you home.”
He moved to put his own cup down and stand, too, but Emma stopped him, holding her hand up. “No thank you, Mr. Deakon. Your presence will be missed more than mine.”
And with those last words, Emma finally escaped.
In bed that night, she wiped away her salty tears with trembling hands and tried to stifle the sobs in her throat that kept threatening to flee.
Her heart yearned to break free of the fear of being alone, the fear that Nancy Jane had placed in her soul so many years back. She wished she could find the courage to stand up to her evil words but knew she never would.
Heavy boots walking and spurs jingling across the floor above her head once again made her heart hurt. She had seen the look of offence on Thatcher’s face when she had rejected his offer to walk her home, but she was too humiliated to spend a second longer in his presence. He would never forgive her for snubbing him, though, and she would forever be alone.
Chapter Three
The days after supper at the Reillys proved difficult for Emma. Each opportunity that arose for her to be in the same vicinity as Thatcher made her even more depressed, as her mind was plagued with regret for her choices. She knew she had offended the man greatly by refusing his offer of help, as he would no longer even attempt to speak with her. Not that she wasn’t guilty of the same. In fact, had she ever gone out of her way to speak to the dreadfully handsome cowboy? Still, confusion swarmed her mind, for even though Thatcher wouldn’t speak with her, each time she glanced towards him, she would find him staring broodingly in her direction.
One evening, as she served supper to their guests, she placed a plate in front of Thatcher on the table, and he thanked her quietly. Each time she walked back into the room to put something on the table, to ask if they wanted anything else, or to sit down herself, her heart would flip to see Thatcher’s dark eyes following her. She wondered why in heaven he would even want to glance at her for how cold she had been before.
As she eventually sat down to the table, she glanced up to see Thatcher staring yet again, his brows furrowing together. Her nerves made her look away once more, but something different caught her eye, so she shifted her gaze back up, distracted by what she saw. Instead of the anger she’d been expecting, Emma was shocked to see a look of sadness, even hurt, burning in his eyes.
She hadn’t realized she was staring until Thatcher blinked and looked away from her. Finally shaken from her trance, Emma looked away, too, but was still astonished to have had such an insight into the man’s feelings. She had not expected to see such emotion. She knew that her denial of his offer to walk her home the other night could have made him mad, offended even, but never hurt. Her stomach churned. Why was she being so heartless? She had been taught better.
A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance) Page 5