A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  They had the dishes done within minutes, and soon Thatcher was drying his hands on a rag, moving to stand in front of Emma as she leaned her back against the counter, the pots drying beside her. He smiled, and she became flustered as she thought of the night they’d last seen each other. Then, before she could blush, she asked about Lucy Martin, curious to know more about her future neighbor.

  “Well,” Thatcher said, “she’s the perfect kind of woman for James, that’s for sure. She’s real pretty and sweet-tempered. Never said a bad thing in her life, let alone thought one. Got the disposition of a soft daffodil, I’d say.”

  Emma looked to the floor as she tried not to let jealousy rage in her soul, telling herself that Lucy was soon to be Thatcher’s sister-in-law and that there was nothing between them. Still, he spoke of Lucy like those things were what he himself admired in a woman, and Emma was certainly none of the things he’d mentioned. Pretty? Never thought a bad thing? Well if that was her key to get into heaven, Emma definitely wasn’t going to be invited in. She had thought enough bad things about Nancy Jane in the past few weeks to last her a lifetime. The worst part about it was that she didn’t even care! At least she felt bad for not feeling bad. That had to count for something.

  A feeling she’d never felt before sparked within her, making her blood boil at the thought of Thatcher finding someone else attractive, nice, like a ‘soft daffodil’. What if she stepped on that daffodil? It wouldn’t be so soft anymore, then, would it?

  What is wrong with me? she thought.

  “What’re you thinkin’ that’s causin’ that scowl of yours?” Thatcher questioned, his callused finger smoothing out the frown in her brow.

  “Oh…nothin’,” she said, looking anywhere but at him, trying to make sense of the sudden thoughts that had popped into her mind. Her forehead tingled from his soft touch.

  He lifted her chin with his finger, but she still avoided direct eye contact. “Come on, little darlin’, let it out.”

  “I…” He nodded, encouraging her to continue when she hesitated. “I was just thinkin’ of how great Lucy sounds.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but at least it was half of it. Well, not really half. More like a fifth.

  “Yes, she is quite somethin’. Quite somethin’, indeed.”

  “Oh.” Well that wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

  He chuckled at her response. “‘Oh’? That’s all you got to say? ‘Oh’?”

  She jutted her chin out. “What else am I supposed to say?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “Somethin’ along the lines of, ‘I can’t wait to meet her’ or ‘I’m sure we’ll get along just fine!’”

  He took another step, so close that she had nowhere to go. She tried scooting away sideways, but his hands planted themselves on either side of her on the counter. He leaned forwards, so she was pressed against the edge of the counter, having to crane her neck back to see his face. She immediately felt intimidated, but that spark inside her told her not to not feel so unsettled.

  Straightening her stance, Emma placed a palm on Thatcher’s solid chest, relishing the feel of the contours of his muscles, and pushed him gently away. “If I say those things now, they won’t mean nothin’.”

  Thatcher chuckled, a deep rumbling in his throat, but he stayed where he was despite her slight pressure in attempt to move him. “I suppose you’re right, sugar.”

  He moved closer. She tried to stand taller.

  “Nope, sure won’t,” she said, pursing her lips together.

  “So why ain’t you excited to meet Miss Martin, then, Emma?” Thatcher said, a smile across his handsome face.

  “Well ’course I’m excited to meet her…It just seems like she’s…like she’s just perfect. That’s all.” She raised her brows, acting like nothing was wrong, but she

  wondered what in the world had gotten into her.

  “Oh, I see now,” the man said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So you think I like the type of woman my brother’s marryin’, huh? Does that make you kind of…kind of jealous?”

  She finally looked into his eyes, feeling indignant at his assumption, as true as it might be. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout, Mr. Deakon.”

  ***

  He chuckled at Emma’s defiant response, but as she finally met his gaze, his heart skipped a beat. Those light blue eyes of hers had changed somehow. They were no longer trying to escape his gaze but staring directly into his soul. He could find only a small amount of self-doubt in them, most of it replaced by confidence.

  And boy was it attractive! That little spark of fire he had seen that day by the river was now magnified tenfold in her eyes, seeming to exude self-confidence itself, building into a raging wildfire. It made his head spin, and he could hardly contain himself!

  ***

  “Oh, but I think you do, Emma” Thatcher said, leaning even closer. “And you need to remember our deal, or I’ve a mind to remind you myself.”

  Emma was delighted by his flirting! “Alright, Thatcher,” she said, “I’ll remember our deal. Just so long as you don’t make ridiculous statements of me bein’ jealous of James’s fiancée.”

  “Alright.” He smiled with half of his mouth. “But either way, you don’t need to worry, darlin’, ’cause I ain’t the least bit attracted to women like Lucy, as kind and sweet as she is.”

  Emma’s mind raced, but she pushed aside any thoughts of herself. It would be just too wonderful if he was attracted to her. “So you’re interested in women who are like poisonous snakes? Pink poisonous snakes?”

  Thatcher threw his head back and laughed. “No, sugar,” he said, his white teeth beaming. “I ain’t interested in poisonous pink snakes either.”

  “For cryin’ out loud,” she said, trying to push him away but failing again. “Just stop playin’ your games and tell me already.”

  “Ah, I see you’re just dyin’ to know.”

  “I am not,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing and her chin raising again. “I’m merely bein’ inquisitive, that’s all.”

  He chuckled. “Well, you see, sweet pea, I ain’t interested in any of those kinds of women.”

  She waited for him to continue, feeling her knees quiver slightly as he bent closer to her face and stared at her lips for a few seconds until he looked back up to her eyes. “I much prefer the wildflowers to daffodils or snakes.”

  Her mind was immediately taken back to the day she’d first met him, that childish purple wildflower in her hair, then to the day at the river when he had placed another one behind her ear. “Why on earth would you prefer a crinkly, old wildflower?” she asked, her lip curved up in disgust. Who did she know who was comparable to a wildflower? Mrs. Gardner? She was old and wrinkly.

  “I like it ’cause them wildflowers smell the sweetest,” he said, placing his cheek next to her own, then moving his nose along her jawline, ending in her braid that was tossed over her shoulder.

  Suddenly, wildflowers don’t sound half so bad, she thought, her breathing quickening as she felt his breath close to her ear.

  He leaned back slowly, looking into her eyes again. “They’re the prettiest things out there surrounded by a bunch of weeds,” he continued, holding her cheek in his strong hand, perusing every inch of her face.

  She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. He was actually comparing her to a wildflower, and he liked wildflowers! Even more than daffodils and snakes!

  He came even closer to her then, showering small, wet kisses along her cheeks, nose, forehead, and chin, purposely avoiding her mouth.

  “And you want to know the best thing ’bout a wildflower?” he asked as he pulled back, the corner of his lips curving up.

  She was absolutely dying to know but could only nod her head, being in a complete trance from his affections.

  “A wildflower stands strong and tall, even when the world rains down on her and tells her she’s small and worthless.” Tears gathered in her eye
s as his soft words continued. “That little flower holds her head high, provin’ to have a secret fire of confidence inside that burns until someone can help let it out.”

  As tears streamed down her cheeks, Thatcher wiped them away with a callused thumb. “That’s why I like wildflowers more than daffodils and snakes. That’s why I like you more than anyone else.”

  Emma smiled, taking a deep breath as Thatcher moved his mouth to meet her own. He leaned his body close to hers, causing her back to press even more against the counter, their bodies close together.

  Not needing any more encouragement than what had already been given, Emma wrapped her arms around him. She felt the muscles in his back work as he moved both of his hands to hold her face. How glorious it felt to have his mouth against her own once again!

  The passion between them was so sweet, so powerful, that Emma found it hard not to cry. This kiss was different than the first, less driven and demanding. Sweeter and slower.

  Soon, Thatcher pulled back to look into Emma’s eyes. “And I’m sure a snake’s kiss doesn’t hold a candle to what a wildflower can do with them pretty petal-lips of hers,” he said, his eyes shining with mirth.

  She laughed, swatting him on the arm. “Let’s get back in there ’fore those two start to talkin’ ’bout us.”

  “Oh, honey,” Thatcher said, shakin’ his head, “I’m sure you don’t have to worry ’bout that. They were probably doin’ some sparkin’ of their own.”

  Emma giggled, and Thatcher led her out of the room, her fingers tingling as he held her hand firmly in his own.

  ***

  “Thank you again for lettin’ me stay for supper,” Thatcher said, putting his hat on his head as he moved to open the front door. “It was mighty fine seein’ y’all again.”

  He winked at Emma, and her heart skipped a beat as she returned his smile.

  “You sure you won’t stay for the night, Thatcher?” Eliza asked. “It sounds like it’s comin’ down awful hard out there.”

  Thatcher opened the door, peaking outside. The rain had already created puddles and mud on the road, and a crack of lightning lit the sky overhead, thunder quickly following.

  “Your horse is already at the livery,” Seth said, eyeing the nasty storm. “You might as well stay.”

  Emma was relieved when Thatcher nodded. The storm would be no help to him or his horse, what with such a muddy road. “I guess you’re right.” He looked towards Emma saying, “But only if I’m not puttin’ you out further.”

  “Nonsense, Mr. Deakon,” Emma said, shaking her head. “We’ll all rest easier tonight knowin’ you’re safe and sound here.”

  Thatcher smiled. “I guess that’s that then.”

  Eliza clapped her hands together. “Good,” she said, beaming. “Now all we need is a fire and a card game to keep us—”

  She halted her speech with a grunt, doubling over as she winced. Seth was immediately at her side, holding her firmly around her waist. “What’s wrong, Eliza?” he asked, fear apparent in his voice.

  “Oh, honey,” Eliza said, talking in a whisper, sweat already appearing across her forehead, “I think it’s ’bout that time.”

  Seth looked to Emma in panic, his eyes widening. But Emma only smiled encouragingly. “Seth, you go on and take Liza to your room and make sure she’s comfortable.”

  Her brother at once nodded his head and with the strength that comes only from a man scared for his wife, picked up the heavily breathing Eliza in one swoop and charged out the room.

  Emma looked next to Thatcher. “Can you fetch Doc Symes for me? Tell him Eliza started havin’ pains earlier this mornin’, but they’re worse now.”

  Thatcher nodded, his wide-eyed gaze still on the doorway through which Seth had carried Eliza. Emma smiled with understanding, but she grabbed his face between her hands, holding gently but firm. “Thatcher,” she said, “I need you to go now.”

  He blinked a few times and nodded again, this time the words registering in his mind. “Yes, ’course,” he muttered, and he spun on his heel, slamming the door shut behind him.

  The doctor soon arrived to check on Eliza and how she was doing, making sure everything was fine.

  “You just need to come get me if she feels like somethin’ is wrong. I’ll be between here and the Clark’s home ’cause their mother’s sick again.” Emma and Seth nodded outside of where Eliza lay panting. “It’ll be awhile yet ’fore the baby comes, so I’ll stop and check in on her occasionally. Alright?”

  Emma nodded and smiled, leading him to the doorway. Thatcher still stood in the front room of the inn, and as soon as the doctor was gone, he spoke up. “I’m goin’ on home, Emma.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Thatcher, but you can’t.”

  “I’m just in the way, here,” he said, eying the floor. “I’ll just leave so everyone can relax.”

  “If I know one thing ’bout deliverin’ babies, Thatcher, it’s that everyone is anythin’ but relaxed.”

  He smiled, but Emma could still feel his uncertainty. “Please, Thatcher. Seth is goin’ to need you when this baby is ready to come. You got to stay with him.”

  Sighing with relief when he reluctantly agreed to stay, she said, “Thank you, Thatcher!” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, not having time to care about being forward or not. “You can stay in the parlor or go on up to the room you stayed in before, whichever you like, but please make yourself at home.”

  Thatcher nodded. “Don’t worry ’bout me. You just go on back there and make sure Seth ain’t worryin’ his self to death.”

  She smiled and did as she was told, thanking the heavens for having Thatcher there, his presence giving her strength.

  The night progressed, a few hours passing, and Emma, after checking on Thatcher in the parlor, continued to Eliza’s room, a cool rag in her hands. She paused near the door as she overheard Seth and Eliza talking. Not wanting to interrupt, she waited outside for a break in their conversation.

  “How you doin’, sweet pea?” Emma heard Seth ask.

  After a few grunts, Eliza responded. “I’m doin’ good.”

  Seth laughed, and silence ensued until Emma heard him say with a broken voice, “We’re havin’ this baby tonight, ain’t we, Liza?”

  “Yes,” Eliza answered, emotion in her own voice. “Yes, we are, darlin’.”

  Emma walked back to the kitchen, not wanting to listen in anymore. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of what a wonderful journey her brother and sister-in-law were on. What an amazing adventure they had ahead of them.

  She placed the rag on the counter, leaning both her hands against the side of it and resting the weight of her body on her arms. She hung her head and took a deep breath, shoving the negative thoughts away. Someday, someday she’d have the opportunity to have children. She only needed the patience to wait.

  Tears flowed down her cheeks. But she didn’t care about simply having children any longer. All she could think of was being able to have Thatcher’s children. Thatcher’s and her own.

  She let silent tears fall to the counter until Seth called her into the room. She wiped away the moisture from her face, grateful for what little light the small lamp gave in Eliza’s bedroom so the couple wouldn’t be able to see her emotion.

  The night turned to the dark and early hours of the morning, the wait proving long for everyone. The doctor appeared each hour to check on Eliza, and each time Seth would ask to make absolutely certain that it wasn’t time for the baby to come yet. Emma was at the edge of her seat with anticipation and concern, but she didn’t let anyone know. She needed to stay in control of her worries and emotions for everyone else to do the same.

  Each time he left, the doctor would ask Emma the same question. “Now you’re fine here by yourself for a moment, Miss Marchant?”

  And she would always answer the same way. “Sure I am, Doc. Don’t worry.”

  But when the time finally came for Eliza to push, Emma was r
elieved to have the man there. Soon enough, Seth was rushed from the room, and Emma reassured him, saying, “Don’t worry, Seth. She’ll be okay. I promise.”

  He nodded his head and left, closing the door behind him. Emma raced back to Eliza, rubbing another cold cloth across her sweating forehead. “You ready to do this, sister?” she asked.

  Eliza smiled weakly. “Absolutely, Emma.”

  Returning her smile, Emma looked to Doctor Symes. He nodded his head and looked to Eliza. “You’re doin’ just fine, Eliza,” he said. “Just keep takin’ deep breaths.”

  ***

  Thatcher had never heard such pain exuding from someone’s mouth, instantly grateful he wasn’t born a woman. The agony Eliza must have been going through made him ache inside as he thought of ever having to play Seth’s part.

  He pushed Emma and her cute dimples from his mind and instead looked to her brother. Seth was sitting on the couch across from Thatcher in the parlor, his body hunched over, his head bent down towards his knees as he grabbed fists of hair with his hands.

  “How you holdin’ up, Seth?” Thatcher asked softly.

  Seth only guffawed, shaking his hanging head. “You have no idea how hard this is, Thatcher. I mean, I can’t do nothin’!”

  Another wail from Eliza’s room came, and Thatcher watched as Seth stood, throwing his arms in the air as he walked over to the window, only to fold them tightly again. “It’s the most hopeless, helpless feelin’.”

  “I can only imagine,” Thatcher said.

  “What if somethin’ happens to her? What if…what if she…”

  Thatcher felt compassion for the man as he saw tears gather in his eyes, but he cut him off. “Seth, you can’t talk like that. It’ll only make things worse.” He walked up to him, placing firm hands on his slumped shoulders. “Eliza is strong. She can handle it.”

  Seth nodded, his shoulders straightening a bit more.

  “Plus,” Thatcher continued with a smile, “she’s got Emma in there. That girl’ll help her through it.”