She clenched her teeth to stop her chin from quivering as she replayed the hateful words Nancy Jane had said to her. Had she truly been annoying him? She had never intruded on him or sought him out like the other girls of the town did, even some of the married ones! Perhaps he had been annoyed at her for not being able to control her horse when it was spooked. But she tried everything she could have. And besides, he’d been so nice to her afterwards. He couldn’t possibly be upset with her over that…could he?
The parade of thoughts continued as tears spilled over her eyes. “I’m such a fool,” she whispered, stopping and listening to the water spill over the rocks, the melody soothing.
“Oh, Papa, I can’t take this anymore,” she said, longing for her father to help her through. “I need you here with me, to tell me what to do, where to go. I can’t do it alone anymore.”
She knelt in the moist grass, and goose bumps covered her legs, but she didn’t care about the cold anymore. “Please, Papa. Please let me know what to do. I…I love him, Papa.”
It was true! And speaking it aloud only amplified her conviction. How she loved him! Tears streamed down her face as the realization took hold of her soul. She didn’t care if he thought she was annoying, if he found every other girl in Thundercreek more beautiful than her. At that moment, all she could think about was how much she loved him!
“I know it hasn’t been very long, but there’s…there’s just somethin’ ’bout him, Papa. I…I just can’t stop thinkin’ ’bout him. He’s everythin’ I ever wanted, and I just can’t handle it anymore. Please, please help.”
She knelt down, crumpled on the grass, and cried as she spoke to her father, thinking about the man she loved and praying for guidance until she could no longer feel her fingertips, her only answer coming from the soft trickling of the water.
***
Thatcher watched from afar as Emma kneeled in the grass, crying and surely frozen. He could see from the light of the clouds above that her shoulders shook, and he silently cursed Nancy Jane. He couldn’t hear what Emma was saying, but he was positive she was once again talking to the river, talking to her parents.
Wanting to move closer but not sure how to do so without startling her or having her think he was eavesdropping, Thatcher simply watched and waited.
Minutes passed, and still she remained in the grass. Should he approach her like he had the last time? Or would she think he was following her everywhere then?
As he watched her shaking increase, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to help her, he had to help her!
***
“Emma?” The deep voice spoke softly from behind, and Emma gasped, mortified as she recognized who it belonged to.
Instantly standing, she wiped her tears from her cheeks and cleared her throat, her back still facing him. Had he heard what she had been saying? Her confession? That was twice that he’d caught her unaware.
“What are you doin’ here, Mr. Deakon? Why aren’t you back their dancin’?” She hoped and prayed he wouldn’t come closer where her swollen eyes would be visible.
“I…” she heard him begin, and she dared to look back over her shoulder. With his hat in his hands, he stood staring intently at the ground, as if he’d find the answer to her question there. “I saw Miss Tilman speakin’ with you, and when I couldn’t find you after, I…I was worried for you.”
Relief filled her soul as she found nothing in his voice revealing that he had heard what she’d been saying. But as his words trailed off, Emma’s heart burned with confusion. Worried? Why was he worried for her? He wouldn’t be coming in search for her if he didn’t like her in some way, would he? Or did he just feel obligated and more annoyed?
She moved her body to face the river again, brushing another tear away, waiting to speak until she knew her voice wouldn’t give away her emotions. “I’m fine, sure enough. I was only tired. I wanted to get home early.”
Silence was the answer, and she flinched when she heard Thatcher’s footsteps draw near. She couldn’t have him closer, she wouldn’t be able to contain herself from throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing into his strong shoulders.
“Then why ain’t you goin’ home, Emma?” came his soft question as he continued moving closer.
She remained silent. She didn’t know the answer. Feeling a strong hand rest on her right arm, just below her shoulder, Emma’s resolve nearly crumpled. She loved him so much! All she wanted to do was be close to him, hug him, and have him tell her he had feelings for her, too! The warmth of his fingers caused goose bumps to rise on her skin, and she was glad for the cover of the night.
“Emma,” he whispered close behind her, “will you tell me what she said to you to make you leave?”
His sincere question spoke to Emma’s soul, and her head involuntarily ducked down as her shoulders shook from silent sobs. She covered her face with one hand, not wanting him to see her tears, not wanting to be troublesome.
“She didn’t say anythin’,” she sputtered, mad at herself for letting her emotion get the better of her. “Only the truth.”
Thatcher moved to stand in front of her and placed a bent finger under her chin, raising her face to meet his. “I can tell you right now, sugar,” he said, his eyes staring into Emma’s soul, “nothin’ that flannel-mouthed liar has ever said to you should be takin’ as the truth. So don’t you think any more on what she said. Alright?”
As Emma looked into his earnest eyes, a strange feeling came over her, and she knew he was right. She knew Nancy Jane was lying, as always. So why did she let the girl’s words affect her so much?
Nodding her head, she continued to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Thank you for comin’ to make sure I was alright,” she said, smiling half-heartedly. She truly was grateful to him for his search for her, but doubt still gnawed at her heart. He couldn’t care for me. I need to stop thinkin’ such thoughts.
“Well, that’s not the only reason why I came lookin’ for you,” he admitted.
She knew it. Had Eliza told him? Seth? Had Nancy Jane asked him to come find her so the Southern twit could come and rub it in her face later? Her eyebrows formed into a frown and tears threatened to spill once again.
“Now, Miss Emma, I recall you promisin’ me a dance. And I discovered that after your time with the dashing Mr. Gyver,” he winked and then continued, “you left the raisin’ before you saw it through.”
Instantly, her spirits were lifted, and a genuine smile spread across her face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Deakon.”
“Thatcher,” he corrected with a smile. “And I’m sorry, ’cause an apology just ain’t goin’ to cut it. You owe this cowboy a dance, young lady.”
In one swift motion, Thatcher tossed his hat to the ground and gathered her into his arms. She laughed at his smooth maneuver into a waltz, and after a few moments, she let him guide her to a slower sway. Her palm tingled where his hand held firmly, and the small of her back burned with a delightsome fire as his fingers rested there, gentle and firm.
He pulled her close to him, and she could feel the heat of his body next to hers. How wonderful it felt to finally be close to him again! She had dreamt about it for so long, it hardly seemed real. His strength and power as a man was only enhanced when she felt the muscles of his shoulder flexing as he led her in the dance as a gentleman with ease. Mr. Silas Gyver was nothing compared to this handsome and experienced cowboy!
However, fear overcame her as she moved in sync with him, fear of the moment ending, fear of him dancing out of obligation to her, fear of…of him not loving her in return. As their feet slowed, eventually stopping, she could feel Thatcher’s gaze on her.
When she glanced up to the man, the clouds in the night sky allowed Emma to see the intensity of Thatcher’s stare. She dropped her arms down to her sides, but he still held onto her. She had never seen a man look at her in that way before, and it was unsettling to say the least. Both his strong hands moved around her waist and held her confidently, unwilling
to let go. Her sides burned, and she delighted in his steadfast touch.
“Mr. Deakon?” she asked, hesitant to break the silence between them but unable to stop herself. “Is everythin’ alright?”
He only continued to stare deep into her eyes as his left hand moved upwards, sliding across the smooth skin of her arm and neck, finally cupping the right side of her face. His thumb gently traced the scar left from her accident. She winced, not from pain but from the numbing touch of his skin against her own.
“I’m sorry for this,” he whispered, tracing his finger up and down the wound, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to see it clearly.
Emma’s brow furrowed together. What did he have to be sorry about? He certainly didn’t do it. And was it horribly ugly? He had, after all, taken notice of it. “You don’t have to be.”
He only nodded and continued to stare at the scar. “I should’ve arrived earlier. I could’ve protected you from gettin’ hurt at all. And for that I apologize.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She recalled Nancy Jane’s words and mumbled softly, “I should’ve been the one to settle my horse down. I should’ve had more control of her. I’m sorry for bein’ a trouble to you and all the rest of town.”
Her voice broke, and she turned her head away from his searching eyes, afraid he’d see the fear, the love, in her own.
“Trouble?” Thatcher’s astounded voice called her back to look at him. “Is that what you think you are? Trouble?”
Emma didn’t know how to respond, so she only nodded.
“Oh, sweet pea,” Thatcher said with a look in his brown eyes that thrilled Emma to the bones, “you have no idea how much trouble you are.”
There. He had said it. It was true. Nancy Jane had been telling the truth after all. Emma was a burden, and Thatcher had outright admitted it.
“But not in the way you think, Em,” Thatcher continued, softening his voice once again. “Not trouble in the way you think.”
What on earth was he talking about? Her mind raced with possibilities of what he meant, but no strong solution came.
Her heart skipped a beat as he winked, taking a step closer to her. “Yes, my Miss Marchant,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “you are more trouble to me than you could ever imagine.”
Thatcher’s hand slid behind her loose braid, holding her neck and pulling her towards him, causing her breath to be completely taken away as he bent down, eyes intent upon her mouth. And in the next moment, their lips made glorious contact.
Emma’s legs threatened to give way as realization hit. Thatcher Deakon was kissing her! And not just a peck on the lips, no. No, this was a full-blown, swoon-causing, mouth-watering, man-driven kiss! She reached up to his shoulders and clutched whatever fabric of his white shirt she could to hold herself upright and steady.
His lips were warm against her own as his strong jaw and mouth instructed her on how to return his kiss. She could hardly breathe as his mouth crushed her own, his facial hair causing her lips to tingle with anticipation of more. She could hardly believe it was happening! In all her dreams, fantasies, and longings, never had she thought anything could be as wonderful as kissing the man she loved!
His hands moved to hold her face in place, tilting it one way and then the next as he kissed her over and over again, breaking briefly to kiss her cheek and chin, only to return back again to her mouth with more desire than before.
So breathless she was by his vigor that she could hardly hold onto his shoulders anymore. So, standing on her tiptoes, she moved her arms up to wrap around his neck. She felt Thatcher respond as he wrapped his own arms around her waist, pulling her even closer against his solid chest.
Emma felt moisture land on her skin, and the wind suddenly picked up, causing more drops to fall from above. Her natural instinct was to pull away and find shelter from the sudden rain, but Thatcher held tight. Even when it moved from occasional drops to downpour, Thatcher kept her in his arms. The rain soaked right through to her skin, but she was no longer cold, wrapped completely in the warmth of Thatcher and his affections.
***
Thatcher hadn’t been able to help himself when he’d seen Emma looking up at him so innocently before. He had to kiss her. He had to! But his desire still had yet to be quenched as he worked his mouth close to hers, relishing the feel of her body against his own, her soft lips tasting of peach cobbler and everything sweet. This girl had completely bewitched him, and he didn’t even care!
He opened his eyes for a brief moment as he kissed her and saw the rain splashing against her eyelids, making her hair and lashes even darker. The woman was absolutely stunning, and it was high time she realized it! And if this was the easiest way for Emma to believe in her own worth and that someone did care for her, then so be it. He certainly wouldn’t be the one to protest!
***
Emma caught her breath as Thatcher slowed their kisses. She ran her fingers through his hair and sighed with his mouth pressed to hers. “Thatcher,” she whispered. What possessed her to say his name again, she had no idea, but it seemed to affect him in the same way as before, and she didn’t understand.
His body stiffened, and he pulled back with what seemed like great effort. She instantly felt the absence of his body close to hers and shivered from the rain.
Thatcher didn’t look back to Emma, only grabbed his hat from off the ground and placed it firmly on his head. The rain dripped from the brim of it, and Emma could only make out his lips, the rest covered with a black shadow. They were set in a firm line.
She stood there helpless, feeling like a wet dog, all energy sucked right out of her. And more than anything, she was embarrassed. What was wrong? Had she done something she wasn’t supposed to? What was it with her saying his name? It seemed like each time she did, he got mad at her. For cryin’ out loud, she thought, don’t tell me to call you by your first name then!
“Let’s get you home, Em,” Thatcher said, holding his hand out for her, “’fore you make more trouble for me.”
She tentatively placed her hand in his own outstretched one and let him lead her to his horse that he had tied a ways away, thinking of how good her name sounded in his deep voice. She shivered from the cold, her wet hair hanging in strings around her face, the braid no longer together.
He looked back to her trailing behind him and chuckled. “Come on, darlin’,” he said with a smile. “Better walk faster than that, or you’ll not be gettin’ home in one piece.”
She didn’t have the energy to figure out what he was saying. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Entirely drained of everything.
He helped her onto his horse and mounted behind her, holding the reins firmly as his arms encircled her body. She laid her head back on his chest, and he tucked his chin closer to her head, sheltering her from the rain as much as he could. How she loved him!
Deciding to ignore the sudden break of their kiss, Emma delighted in the feel of his strong chest behind her and nuzzled her cheek closer to his wet shirt. Much to her joy, even though she was still confused, Thatcher let Sweet Tooth walk home, rather than trying to get back quicker by making him gallop. The rain pattered down on her body, but the cooling sensation couldn’t hinder the warmth she felt with Thatcher’s body so close.
The ride went much too quickly for Emma, and they were soon back in Thundercreek, riding to the Marchant Inn. No one had yet returned from the barn raising, and nothing could be heard but the occasional thunder and the splatter of the rain landing on the boardwalk and dirt road.
Thatcher helped her down from the horse, and Emma’s waist tingled from his strong fingers at her sides. She felt like she was in a dream as they walked up the steps to the inn.
“Now get in bed, little lady, ’fore you catch cold,” Thatcher said, removing his hat as they reached the door.
She nodded her head and smiled as he winked at her. She trembled with anticipation as his eyes travelled down her face, landing once again on her lips
. Her mouth involuntarily parted, but he seemed to think better of kissing her again and replaced his hat on his head, tipping the front of it down to her.
“You have a good night now, Emma,” Thatcher said as he backed away from her. “And remember what I told you. You believe nothin’ that girl says to you anymore, you here?”
Emma nodded obediently.
Thatcher laughed and shook his head, walking down the steps to his horse. “She was right ’bout one thing, though. You sure are trouble to a man!”
He mounted Sweet Tooth and steered him into a gallop through the rain. Emma stood by the door, watching him on his black stallion.
She ignored the last thing he had said to her and instead focused on his wet, white shirt, the muscles and contours of his back, and the way he had kissed her. “Sakes alive, he’s handsome,” she said to the rain.
She walked into the inn and shed her wet clothing once she’d reached her room. The smile on her face wouldn’t wash off no matter hard she tried, and that night for the first time in a long while, she slept sound.
***
Thatcher slowed his horse as he rode home that night, not wanting to arrive at the house until he was sure Nancy Jane and the flock of women had left. He was grateful for the rain, knowing that most folks would already be on their way home because of it. He lifted his face up to the sky and felt the drops slide down his cheeks, neck, and back, trying to dispel his longing to kiss Emma more.
“Trouble, indeed,” he said aloud.
He’d never been in more trouble in his whole life as he was when he was around Miss Emma Marchant. That beautiful woman was fire, and he knew it, but he couldn’t shake the stirring in his heart whenever he thought of her warm smile, tentative blue-eyed gaze, and long brunette hair. Not even the thought of his mother could dispel his desires as he kissed Emma that night.
A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance) Page 12