“Well, hi there, Miss Marchant,” Mr. Garth said as he came in from the back room of the general store with a basket of goods for one of his customers. “I’ll be right with you.”
Had Mr. Garth heard what the women were saying? No doubt everyone in town was already thinking it. “Actually, Mr. Garth,” she said in a voice only slightly louder than a whisper, “if it would be alright, can I just leave my list with you and come back in a while? I’ve a few more things to do.”
“Sure, Miss Marchant, sure,” Mr. Garth said, his cheeks swelling at the sides of his round face from his smile. It soon faded, however, and his eyes showed concern. “You all right there, honey? You look as pale as a ghost.”
Emma forced a smile. “I’m just in need of some fresh air.”
She turned on her heel, unable to keep her eyes from glancing once more towards the women. Mrs. Gardner’s eyes darted away from Emma, her face reddening, but Mrs. Tilman stared right back, a haughty smile on her pinched face.
Before she could let Mrs. Tilman have the satisfaction of seeing her tears, Emma left the general store. Keeping her head down to avoid questioning gazes, she hurried down the boardwalk, her thoughts unrelenting. How could she have been so foolish as to imagine that Thatcher enjoyed her company? She had been utterly ridiculous to even hope for him to be her friend. The thought of the handsome man made her sadness increase.
There was one place Emma could think of to go at that moment of deep sorrow, and it seemed she couldn’t get there fast enough. She walked past the inn and, as soon as she was out of sight, pulled her skirts above her ankles, running from the peering eyes around her.
The river brought her solace immediately, as it always did when she ventured there. It was located not far from the small town, only a half of a mile away, and she took a deep breath as she walked towards the water trickling downstream, exhaling slowly to force her negative thoughts and worries out.
There was a special place she loved to go, hidden in the trees, secluded enough to have only herself and her father know about it. He was the one who’d found it, revealing it solely to his daughter.
She ducked under a few branches and side-stepped the low shrubs until she found her spot among the dense set of trees. A rock just big enough to fit two people sitting side by side on it was situated in the center of the crowding foliage, perfect for her father and herself.
She sat down, wishing he was there to help her, to comfort her, but even though he wasn’t, she still felt a closeness to him that only came when she was there. She looked out to the river that was a mere three feet away. The pathway of the water was lined with deep green trees, various plants, and every kind of wildflower, all undisturbed by human touch. Water lapped up onto the rocks, washing them clean as skeeters skimmed across the surface. All was peaceful and serene, and she finally felt calm.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and her heart twisted in pain once again. “Papa,” she whispered, “I need help. I can’t do this.”
She crumpled down onto the smooth grass and laid her head on the sitting rock. There, she let sobs wrack her body, for she knew no one could hear her. She wished with all her heart that her father and mother were there to help her through, but they weren’t. She would have to stay alone. Just like she always had, always would.
When no more tears came, Emma wiped at her swollen cheeks and looked to the river, releasing her hair from the bun to let it flow along with the wind. The water’s constant, steady rhythm reminded her of her father’s voice telling her to be strong, that all would be made right soon enough.
“Be like the river, Em,” he used to say as they watched the smooth movements together. “Never stop movin’ in the direction you want to go. If you stay strong, you’ll always end up where you’re supposed to be.”
Her lips curled in the tiniest of smiles as she remembered his gentle voice, smooth like the river. He had always been there to encourage her and keep her steady on the bumpy road of life, and she believed with all her heart that he still was.
“Papa,” she said to the river, her heart longing for his familiar, protective embrace, “I miss you.”
***
Thatcher had spotted Emma scurrying from town as he was riding in to purchase an extra hammer for James, and his curiosity had been peaked as he saw her hands covering her face, her feet quickly propelling her away. Knowing she was upset, he had followed her to…to help her? Be of some comfort?
As he stared at the haunting image before him, he was even more uncertain as to what to do. He could barely see the woman, only patches of her slightly visible through the heavy-leaved branches as she stood and approached the river. Her body became more visible when she knelt down close enough to run her long, slender fingers through the shining water. His heart took to beating faster as he saw her hair fall past her shoulders, the wind blowing it gently across her tear-stained cheeks.
He knew she was unaware of him watching her, but not even his guilt could attempt to shift his gaze. Her smooth lips moved as she stared into the depths of the water, and he couldn’t help but wonder what confidences she was sharing with the river. And even though his own mind was against it, his soul couldn’t stop him from seeking out the troubled, captivating woman.
***
“They carried on until they saw me standin’ there,” Emma whispered to the water. “I couldn’t take it, so I left, even though I know I should’ve spoken up to them.”
A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she gasped as she saw Thatcher poke his head under a low branch of a nearby tree, his hat shadowing half of his face.
“Sorry,” he said when she jumped.
She immediately stood and brushed the grass and dirt from her skirts, hoping her splotchy cheeks would go unnoticed. What was he doing there? How had he found her spot?
“Did you need somethin’?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound rude. She could’ve sworn she saw his face turn a deep shade of red, but she believed it to be impossible for Thatcher Deakon to blush about anything. He was too perfect for that.
“I don’t mean to impose,” he continued as he made his way through the thick shrubbery. “I just saw you run over here and wondered if everythin’ was okay.”
It was her turn to blush as she looked back to her distorted reflection in the fast-paced water. Had he seen her talking to the river? She tried to gather her hair back into a bun, but she couldn’t find the pin she had thrown to the grass minutes before.
“It’s alright,” she assured him as she held the long strands in her hand close to her neck. “I was just…”
What was she supposed to say? Oh, I was just talkin’ to the river, hopin’ that it’ll talk back and give me some advice, she thought.
She sighed and shook her head. What use was it anyway? She was sure he must have heard the gossip around town already, especially if he had spent any more time with Nancy Jane. Her shoulders slumped and her breathing slowed. She didn’t care anymore what he thought. If he felt the same thing the women did in town about her, then so be it.
She let her hand fall to her side, releasing her hair to continue flowing with the wind. Her boots were off, but her dress and stockings covered her ankles. Mostly, anyway. Either way, it was entirely indecent to be seen the way she was, but she didn’t care.
“I was…I was just sharin’ my thoughts with the water,” she said as she moved towards her father’s and her sitting rock.
Hesitant to see Thatcher’s response, she kept her gaze down, hearing his footsteps draw nearer to her resting ground.
He was silent as he continued forward, eventually crouching down before her on her right side. Tilting his head to see her face more, Thatcher smiled. She noticed the wrinkles around his eyes were missing.
He placed his fingers on the side of her face and slowly directed it towards his own, making it so she couldn’t help but look into his eyes.
“You know, I’ve always found water to be the greatest listener mysel
f,” he said, his deep voice soft and comforting.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back and smiled at her friend, the man who had completely captured her heart.
He removed his finger from beneath her chin and sat down on the rock next to her. She was completely undone. And I thought the touch of his thumb was invigoratin’. Never had she been so close to a man, not even while dancing at barn raisings or social gatherings! Her shoulder touched his bicep, and she felt the strength within him. And suddenly, she felt more comforted than she had in ages. She fought the urge to rest her head on his strong shoulder, ignoring the tingling sensation on her skin by focusing on the sound of the water lapping close to their feet.
The close proximity and sudden comfort Emma felt opened her mouth, and before she knew it, she was sharing her thoughts. “When Papa was close to leavin’ us, he brought me to his side and told me that if I ever needed someone to listen to my worries, the river would be there for me.”
Thatcher nodded, watching Emma as she continued. “So every time I can, I come out here seekin’ answers, seekin’ peace.”
“And do you find them?” he asked softly.
She watched the lilting movements of the river and nodded. “Each and every time I’ve been able to find the answers to the questions I have and the strength I need to go on with life.”
They sat in silence, watching the river, trees, and flowers around them. There had never been a more perfect moment for Emma. All thoughts of the gossiping ladies were behind her then, and she could have remained there forever with the man of her very dreams sitting beside her.
Thatcher spoke, his voice deep and soft. “I’m sure your papa knows that you’ll make the right decisions. He must be right proud of you.”
Emma fought the urge to cry again at his sweet understanding. Long moments of peace later, Emma looked up towards him. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He looked to her, their faces inches apart. She thought he must’ve realized that he was too close, for in the next instance he stood, placed his hat on his spot on the rock, and walked down to the riverbank where the water approached the edge of his boots. His spurs jingled as he moved, causing her to smile, even though she noticed the warmth from her side depart as he walked away. She watched, intrigued as he removed his boots and socks one at a time and then proceeded to let his toes feel the cool of the water.
Thatcher motioned with a smile and a toss of his head for her to come over to where he stood. She returned his smile and went to him, positively sure she would do anything he asked her to at that moment.
“Now,” he began, turning his body to face her own, “do you want to tell me what happened to you today that made you run out of town like a bat out of a barn?”
Emma’s eyebrows pulled together, and her smile faded slowly as her negative thoughts returned. She looked to the river and couldn’t say a word. Did he really want to know? Should she tell him? How absurd, she thought. She couldn’t tell him about the whole town gossiping that she was throwing herself at him.
“No?” Thatcher guessed. “Okay, then. We’ll find somethin’ else to talk about, okay?”
Emma nodded and watched a honeybee gather nectar from a nearby purple larkspur.
“Let’s see…” he continued when she said nothing. “Let’s talk ’bout…Oh, I know the perfect thing. Let’s talk ’bout that peach cobbler of yours. Mmm mmm mmm, that was a mighty fine cobbler. The tastiest I ever had!”
Emma smiled and looked up at him. She saw him lick his lips and laughed.
“You liked it, then?” Emma asked, doubt still flooding her mind.
“Liked it? Hel—” he paused. “Heck, I loved it!”
She laughed and shook her head, still not believing his doting. “I’ll have to make it sometime for you again then.” She couldn’t hide her grin, even if she had wanted to.
“Yep, you sure will,” he said, nodding fiercely. “And don’t you forget to put that powdered sugar on there, too. That there was my favorite part.”
He winked at her, and she blushed as the memory of his callused touch pushed all lingering negative thoughts away. She walked closer to the river and bent down to touch the cold refreshing feel of the water. He followed suit and smiled as he did so.
“I’m sure it was your favorite part, too, darlin’, wasn’t it?” His eyes held a mischievous light.
She allowed her mouth to drop open in mock horror and said, “I beg your pardon, but no, sir, it wasn’t.”
He laughed at her indignant nature and nodded his head. “You can’t fool me, Miss Marchant. I saw the desire etched plain as day ’cross that pretty little face of yours.”
She scoffed and denied it once more, but he would have none of it. So, without thinking further, Emma propelled her hand through the river and splashed the confident smirk off Thatcher’s mouth with the cold water. He gasped as it hit his face, but it didn’t take long for him to retaliate.
“You’ll be sorry for that, Little Missy!”
Emma thought it was hardly fair that his hands were much larger than hers, as she ended up getting wet all across the front of her bodice, water getting in her eyes and hair, as well. He splashed her over and over again, so she reached down and did the same, trying to shield her face from the brunt of his attacks. She could see nothing and was absolutely freezing, but she’d never felt so alive.
“Alright, I give up! I give up!” she yelled above the water’s noise when she could handle the cold no longer.
Thatcher stopped instantly, and she wiped the water from her eyes as she giggled, unable to breathe.
“We’re even now, then?” he questioned, breathless from laughter as well, his eyes crinkling.
She grinned and nodded her head. “Yes,” she said, “we’re even.”
However, her impish side had finally been allowed out, and she just couldn’t help but give one last splash of water directly onto Thatcher’s handsome face that was already dripping wet.
She laughed with pleasure and tried to move away before he got the chance to retaliate, but his strong hand gripped her arm and pulled her towards him in once swift movement.
Squealing with delight, Emma tried to escape before he could get back at her, but his strength far surpassed her own, the realization causing her pulse to quicken with delight.
He wrapped his strong arms around her stomach and pulled her back against his chest, walking backwards towards the river.
She instantly perceived his intention and resorted to begging. “Mr. Deakon, please no! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” she spurted out between giggles.
“Oh no, you don’t, Miss Marchant,” Thatcher said with a laugh. “You can’t sweet talk your way out of this one, you little cheat. Not even if you had a whole wagon load of sugar!”
She continued to laugh and then gasped as her stockings filled with the icy water. “Oh!” she yelped as her petticoats became drenched and the water rose above her knees. “Mr. Deakon! Let me out! It’s too cold!”
She was delighted when he only chuckled and continued to bring her further into the water. “Nope, you need to learn your lesson, missy. You don’t mess with Thatcher Deakon.”
“Okay, okay! I’ve learned my lesson!” She gasped as the water went to her waist, the skirts of her dress floating around her until they became just as wet as the rest of her, eventually sinking down to her shivering legs.
He finally stopped pulling her in and turned her around to face him. She felt like she was going to be carried away with the current, so she clutched onto his arms. “Mr. Deakon, please!” she exclaimed. “We’re goin’ to get washed away and then freeze to death!”
He continued to chuckle. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ve got you.”
She moved with the motion of the water, back and forth, side to side, Thatcher swaying the same way. She looked up to his face and realized how close she was to him. She would have backed away if she could, but the fear of being dragged under the icy current petrifie
d her, as well as the thought of releasing him for even a moment.
“Please, Mr. Deakon. I’m sorry. I’ll never cheat again! Can you take me back now?”
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, his hands holding firmly around her waist. “If you agree to call me Thatcher from now on, I’ll take you back. Otherwise, you best be gettin’ comfy out here.”
***
Thatcher didn’t try to hide his pleasure at seeing Emma’s eyes widen in shock, nor did he bother smothering his joy in holding her tightly against him. He was grateful for the powerful river giving him the excuse to have her so close.
“I’m sure I could never agree to that, Mr. Deakon,” Emma said, her chin rising slightly.
He loved seeing the spark in her eyes. He hadn’t seen it there for so long, and it made her all the more attractive. “Okay,” he said, “just when we’re alone then. Anywhere else you can call me by that formal name. But if we’re alone, you call me Thatcher.”
***
Emma pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Truthfully, she was just buying time out there in the river being held by Thatcher Deakon. If she wasn’t having so much fun, she would’ve agreed instantly to call him by his first name.
“Agreed, Mr. Deakon,” she said with a smile. She’d never felt so much like herself. She’d never felt so free!
“Ah ah ah.” Thatcher shook his head.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Okay…Thatcher.” The name felt like honey to her tongue, saying it out loud for the first time to him.
He smiled, pleased. “Alright then. You ’bout ready to head back to warmth?”
Emma nodded her head and shuddered from the goose bumps enveloping her whole body. She hoped Thatcher didn’t realize that they were from his fingers being on her arms, not from cold water.
He directed her back to the land, keeping a firm hold of her until they were on steady ground once again. She wrung her hair out, and the water dripped down her hands onto the grass beneath her. She silently thanked the heavens that she hadn’t chosen to wear her white blouse that day.
A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance) Page 7