by Lynda Chance
And the fact that all of this was found on a ranch in the middle of Colorado told her that Luke Butler was a man of wealth.
In an attempt at small talk and in getting to know the housekeeper, when she had questioned Maria as to how big the ranch was, the other woman had looked puzzled and had waved her hand in an airy way and replied that it went everywhere.
Emma wondered what exactly everywhere meant.
Before she left her room, she had washed as quickly and as well as she could, because she was anxious to see the ranch and where she would be staying for what would very probably be a week or so. Because she didn't have her things, she'd had no choice but to sleep in a single petticoat and put on the same dress that she had worn the previous day.
When she had haltingly arrived at the kitchen, Luke was nowhere to be seen, but the signs of his occupation were everywhere. Several hats identical to the one he had been wearing hung on pegs next to the door, and a coffee cup and used plate were still situated at the head of the table where he had undoubtedly had his breakfast.
She had found Maria, and had shyly introduced herself and offered her help in any way she could.
Maria was a pleasant, rotund soul with knowing, dark brown eyes and twin dimples in her cheeks that were forever creased in happiness for one reason or another.
Now, after a pleasant morning of chit-chat and female camaraderie, Emma was more than pleasantly surprised to realize that she liked the older woman and that her tentative feelings seemed to be returned.
But why in the world, she had opened her mouth and asked that question about Luke was beyond her. But it had slipped out. She had mentioned that Luke had prepared her a meal the night before and had taken pains to put her at her ease by telling her that he was far less gruff than he sounded.
And now Maria stood in front of her, her mouth open in shock, seemingly at a loss for words.
Emma dried the skillet and pans while sitting at the table, her chair turned to face Maria as they worked together and talked at the same time. Her hands stalled as she tried to interpret Maria's expression. She explained her question to the woman further, "I haven't been around men very much. He seems to be exactly like he is on the surface."
"And how is that?" Maria asked.
Emma's mouth formed a half-smile. "Stubborn." Her eyes flew to Maria's and asked, "Short-tempered, maybe?"
"Yes, these things are true about Luke."
"But not soft, as he told me?"
Maria's mouth twisted in a grimace. "I am not sure exactly why he would say such a thing to you. Soft? No."
They studied each other for a moment and when Emma didn't respond, Maria added, "He is a good man, but soft? No." She shook her head in denial.
"He's not mean, surely?"
"Mean? No, not exactly. Fair, I would call it. A man that is responsible for a ranch of this size and the many men under him, has to have a firm hand, would you not agree?"
Emma nodded her head in agreement, but her mind wandered. That description sounded exactly like the man she had met last night, although she hadn't had much time to develop an appreciation yet as to whether or not he could be called fair.
Certainly, when he realized her adversity to the milk he hadn't pressed it.
In fact, by the sound of things he had tried to calm her fears.
She did like that about the man.
****
Emma wasn't very happy with the lie she was embroiled in pertaining to her 'twisted ankle.' Evidently, Luke had told Maria and Maria was treating her much like an invalid.
She wanted nothing more than to go outside and explore but she couldn't because of her 'injury.'
Instead, she sat in a cushioned, comfortable chair with her leg propped up, reading a copy of the Farmers' Almanac.
She was quite understandably bored, really didn't know anything about farming and didn't particularly want to learn at the moment, and her eyes kept lifting to the window overlooking the kitchen garden. It was lost on her completely the irony of the book she held, versus the place she wanted to be.
The colors spilling from the plot were amazing. Maria had proudly boasted that the garden was hers, and when Emma had enthusiastically wanted to see it, she had been promised that treat when her leg healed properly.
Her leg would never heal properly and she was itching to go see the garden now. To the left and right of the garden, bright yellow flowers guarded the plot like sentinels would a much loved castle. The garden itself exploded in colors bursting of orange, greens, reds, and yellows. Emma could see tomatoes, cucumbers, okra, peppers, and squash.
She had always loved working in the garden at the orphanage; it was one of her favorite memories and one she cherished from her youth.
She had had no family, no mother to love her, but the garden was a constant that grew year after year, it seldom changed, and could always be counted on for nourishment and was a continued form of exercise.
Twenty minutes later, as Emma was still sitting and dreaming about the garden, Maria came through and told her she would be out at the barn for an hour or so to take her husband his lunch. She explained that she did this every day, and then she would come back and prepare Luke's lunchtime meal as well.
As soon as the door closed behind Maria, Emma wasted no time but jumped up and walked as swiftly as she could through the back door and out to the garden. She looked around but saw no one else, and as Maria had walked in the opposite direction and the house stood between them, Emma felt safe wandering up and down the manicured rows of vegetables.
She spied radishes and turnips, potatoes and rhubarb. She picked a small, cherry tomato and popped it in her mouth. The sensation of tomato and sunlight hit her palate, and she closed her eyes and enjoyed being in a garden for the first time in many years.
She pulled a few weeds and tossed them away, knelt down and felt the soil to see if it was well irrigated, and slowly came to her feet again.
The vegetables were fat and overflowing, and she knew they needed to be picked or they would begin suffering. Surely Maria had too much to do and needed help with the chore.
Emma was determined to approach her with the offer if it turned out she would be here for awhile. Even if she wasn't, Emma would dearly love to be able to spend a few wonderful hours picking and preparing the vegetables for the table.
She couldn't stop herself, and gathered five large size yellow squash and held them close to her chest as she began to pick her way carefully back to the house.
She turned too quickly and stepped on a hard, protruding rock. Immediate pain shot through her right leg and she dropped the vegetables as she fell to the ground.
Clenching her teeth at the throbbing coming from the sole of her foot, she reprimanded herself silently for not being more careful. She sat on her bottom in the moist dirt and rubbed her foot, trying to ease the pain. She looked around her and rolled her eyes at her own carelessness. Now her only dress was covered in damp soil.
She slowly got to her feet and began picking up the precious squash. There was not a solitary chance she was going to leave the vegetables to rot after what she had just gone through.
Slowly, being more careful this time, she began walking back to the house. Her foot was still sore and she realized with a bit of humor that she was well and truly limping now. She was favoring not only her right leg, but her right foot as well.
She had only just left the cover of the garden when she saw Luke taking long strides toward her. He came to stand in front of her, and he said not a word.
As Emma stood in front of him holding her cache of squash, she felt exactly like a small child that was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. He towered over her, and she bit her lip and held it between her teeth as he studied her.
His eyes dropped to her mouth and when they stayed there, her pulse started racing and she darted her tongue out to lick her suddenly dry lips. His eyes slowly lifted to hers.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice sounded d
eceptively mild.
"Picking vegetables?" she responded.
"Are you asking me or are you telling me? Sounds like you're not too sure."
Her voice became stronger. "Yes, I was picking vegetables."
"Who said you could do that?" A dark frown covered his face.
"Nobody said I couldn't," she responded mildly.
"Did I tell you to stay off that ankle?" His tone changed to one of censure.
"Um, I believe you did."
"Are you off that ankle?" He taunted her.
"Not presently, no."
There was silence between them.
She shuffled her feet, trying to relieve the pain in her foot. He noticed the movement and cursed under his breath.
Luke swung her up in his arms and carried her through to the kitchen and dumped her in a chair at the kitchen table. She scooted as far back from him as she could until her spine hit the back of the chair. He grabbed the vegetables from her and tossed them on the table.
He needed her to understand how life on the ranch was. He leaned down and put his hands on the arms of the chair and stared down into her upturned face. "You don't know how to mind very well, do you?"
"Mind?"
"Yes, mind. You're supposed to do as I say."
"I am?"
"Yes, damn it! I give an order and you obey it."
"I'm not a child."
He dropped his ruthless gaze from hers and his eyes landed briefly on her lips where they stayed for the count of three long beats before lowering even further and landing on her chest.
"No, you're not." His agreement came low, deep, and slow.
Emma felt a tingling in her breasts from the heated look that slid slowly through her body and ended in a shameful rush between her thighs. She sucked in a breath as she realized he was looking her over with carnal intent and that her body was responding to it.
Had any man ever looked at her in that way? Absolutely none that she could remember. The few times she'd held the attention of a man it had always been fleeting; a man would notice her lame leg and the look would change. It would change to pity, and sometimes possibly, regret.
But here was a man, and dear God, what a man, looking at her in such a way that made her feel like a woman. It made her feel things she'd never experienced before. Oh, she knew it couldn't last, of course, it couldn't. But for now, for this short period in time, Luke Butler wasn't looking at her as if she wasn't whole, wasn't good enough.
It was a heady feeling, to be sure, and a women's intuition she'd only just discovered she had, was telling her that as long as he thought her injury was temporary, he would continue to look at her thusly.
It was too tempting of an idea to even contemplate telling him the truth just now. Emma knew it was wrong, that fabrications were never right, but a little red devil in her head was whispering that she might never have a chance like this again. A chance for a man to see her as just a woman, not as a broken one.
Her stomach clenched in butterflies as she thought about the possibilities. She didn't know how long she would be on his ranch, days only probably, but the possibility that she might experience the one thing that all women wanted someday in their life was tempting.
A man's kiss.
She was twenty-two years old and had never in her life been this close to a man.
Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she stared at the handsome man hanging over her now.
The broad light of day spilling through the windows only confirmed what she had thought last night. He was an incredibly good-looking specimen. And if she looked on this as an experience, and not like she was embroiled in a subterfuge, maybe her conscience wouldn't bang quite as loudly.
As soon as the idea of him kissing her came to mind, it wouldn't let go. Her eyes strayed to his lips and she wondered what they would feel like pressed to hers.
They were firm and masculine; the muscles tightening at his jaw transforming them into lines of clear cut marble. Yet they were full and looked incredibly soft.
That was silly. She berated herself for the thought. How could they look soft? Her eyes dropped to the wide shoulders above his thick chest. No, there wasn't anything soft about him.
Emma was shocked out of her ruminations when a rough hand lifted her chin and brought his gaze searing into hers.
"I know you're not a child. That's half the problem."
She steadied the breath coming in and out of her lungs and asked, "Why is it a problem?"
He didn't answer that question and got back to his original point. "You've got to do as I say, Emma. This is a ranch in the West, not a drawing room in the East. You're not used to it out here, you have no idea what could happen to you." His thumb rubbed tantalizingly over her cheek. "And you're hurt. You need to stay inside and give yourself time to heal."
Emma hung in animated suspension from his grip on her chin, the caress of his fingers and knew this was the time. The time to tell him the truth. Her conscience was screaming at her to tell him. Tell him already! If she told him, she could spend the few days she would have here in the vegetable garden, outside in the sunlight, maybe even walking to the barn and seeing the animals on the ranch. But the little devil in her head was held enthralled by his touch. If she nodded her head in agreement, he would continue to look at her this way. He might touch her again. He might even kiss her.
She desperately wanted to be kissed before she died.
She tried for noncommittal, "I like the garden, what I've seen of your ranch is beautiful."
Her words were spoken from the heart and truth rang from them.
His eyes creased in pleasure and then, slowly, his whole hand encompassed her cheek in his big palm. "I'm glad you like it, but that doesn't change things. You need to stay off that ankle. It won't take long, a week at most."
"But I'll be gone in a week."
His face stiffened and his arms went rigid. "Maybe not."
She didn't continue along that path and merely nodded her head in agreement. "I'll try my best to stay off my feet."
"You'll do more than try, Emma."
She bit her lip at the tone in his voice and wondered if this was another example much like the previous evening where he issued an order that didn't have to be obeyed. Was he only hoping she'd do as he asked?
She couldn't tell. He sounded as if he meant it. Authority rang clearly from his voice.
"Yes, sir."
He let out a low growl in his throat. "I've told you not to call me that."
His hands moved to her shoulders and gripped her. His skin pulled taut over his cheekbones and his nostrils flared.
This close up, Emma was doing everything she could not to faint in her chair. His face was cut in granite lines, and his black-clad figure was massive, moving toward hers as if he would occupy the same space. His hands gripped her in a deathly hold that felt like possession, like he had every right to touch her in that manner and the muscles in his neck were tightening and pulsing, showing the veins and tendons that were the picture of strength itself.
His head was leaning into hers and suddenly the close proximity sent nerves screaming through her. She leaned away and said the first thing she could think of to sidetrack him because thinking about being kissed by him and it actually happening were two entirely different things. "Do you think the sheriff will go after the men who robbed the stage?"
He seemed to freeze in place above her. His jaw clenched tight and he lifted himself away from the chair she sat in and stood to his full height. "Yeah, at first light this morning, he and his men were leaving. They'll get 'em."
"When will--when will he know about me? I mean--that I was on the stage and now I'm here with you?"
"He knows already."
"How?"
"I sent one of my men to town with a message. He knows you're here with me, that you're unhurt except for the sprain." He turned in her direction and looked fully at her and his voice dropped a degree. "He knows you're under my protection."
"I don't know for sure. I can't answer that yet. Cody will be back tonight and I'll have a better idea of what's going on."
"And my things? I don't even have a change of clothes." She lowered her eyes and confessed, "And I think my dress needs to be laundered. I'm afraid I managed to get it dirty."
"That wouldn't have happened if you'd stayed put."
"Yes," she agreed mildly.
"I'll have Maria find you something to wear while she's washing your things."
"I don't want to be any trouble, I can wash my own clothes."
"Guess you should have thought of that before you went gallivanting all over the countryside." His voice was back to being hard and sarcastic.
"All over the countryside? I went in the yard." Her tone held a touch of annoyance.
The look he gave her indicated he wasn't pleased with her argument. "But you wouldn't have fallen on your sweet little backside and tracked dirt through my kitchen if you'd been minding me, now would you?"
"What do you want from me? I apologized once already. I'm sorry. I'll try to do better." Her words were stilted.
"I don't want you to try to do better, Emma. I want you to do better. Stay put. This is rough country. What if there'd been a snake? Or an Indian?"
"An Indian?" her voice quavered.
He was lying about that, he knew. The threat of Indians was almost nil on his ranch. He was just trying to scare her a bit. Put some fear in her. Until she healed properly, outside on his ranch was no place for her. "Could happen," he replied as casually as he could.
Luke and Emma both heard the bang of the box on the counter at the same time and they turned to see Maria with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face looking at Luke like she didn't recognize who he was. Her voice fairly bristled when she spoke. "What kind of nonsense are you scaring her with?"