by Lynda Chance
She knew the accusation was true and all she could do was nod her head in confirmation as she dropped he eyes from his.
"Why the hell would you lie about something like that?" His words were spoken in tones of censure.
She couldn't tell him the truth. That the way he'd looked at her had been an enigma to her that tantalized her and made her want more of the same. Besides, that was why she had continued with the lie.
"I don't know, exactly. I was confused and scared. I didn't know who you were or what you wanted from me. When you came up on the scene at the stagecoach, I needed you to be a good guy. But I was terrified you weren't. Everything about you terrified me. I watched your eyes when you discovered the dead man. They seemed remote, almost lifeless. And then I watched as you calmly rolled a cigarette. Your reaction didn't seem appropriate, I guess. I had no reason to trust you." Her words faltered. "I wasn't thinking straight, Luke."
Luke felt gutted at her explanation. The fact that she had seen him as nothing more than an unfeeling monster caused an ache in the pit of his gut that he wouldn't even acknowledge. He gave her a layered, black look and the explanation he offered was ripped impatiently from his throat. "I saw your belongings in the coach. I knew when I saw the needlework on the seat that a woman had been there. There were only a few explanations for your absence. The one I chose to believe was that you were hiding nearby, because if you weren't that meant they'd either taken you with them, or I was going to find your naked and bruised body, and both those scenarios were too obscene for me to think about. I hoped like hell you were hiding. That's the only thing I can remember feeling at the time. I put the dead man out of my mind and turned my focus to you, trying to find you, because there wasn't a damn thing I could do to help him anymore."
Emma listened to his resounding explanation and so much was explained to her with the insight. She felt doubly guilty that she'd lied to him. And not only that, that she had kept lying to him. Her mind was troubled and she considered telling him the whole truth about herself. But she knew that he would see to it that she was taken into town, and she needed the cloak of respectability that widowhood would bring. She couldn't take the chance that no one else would find out. She'd been living with that one fabrication for so long that she knew it was armor that needed to stay in place.
Her thoughts were interrupted when his arms swooped out and he picked her up and began carrying her through the house toward the bedroom she'd been using.
Shouldering his way through the open door, he walked over to the bed and carefully sat her down on the edge where her legs dangled over the side. Emma's heart was pulsing in rapid beats as he knelt in front of her. "How'd it happen?" His voice was harsh and questioning, as if he had every right to hear the story.
Emma was too shocked to speak when he lifted her right foot and began unlacing her sturdy shoe and removing it from her foot. She watched, unable to move, as he rolled her serviceable stocking from her leg and off her foot.
When she didn't answer him immediately, he stalled his movements, held her bare foot in his hands and looked up at her face and demanded an answer. "Emma. How'd it happen?"
She shook her head back and forth, her hair flying around her face. "What--what are you doing?"
"Checking it out for myself." His voice was gruff and Emma hung in shocked suspension as he began shoving her skirt and twin petticoats up her leg until they were at mid-thigh and her limb was bare to him, toes to thigh.
She finally found her voice, "Stop that!" she shrieked.
He retaliated immediately with a small slap to her bare thigh that shocked but barely hurt as his voice rang out, "Be still!"
She was so startled by his movements that she offered no more objection as he began running his hands up and down her leg, much as he would examined a horse for injuries. His touch was quick and seemed impersonal, but his fingers were strong and the calluses on his hands were rough on her skin as they ran up both sides of her ankle, cupped her calf, and then inspected her knee as if it were nothing more than a hinge on a door.
She held completely still as his hand slid back down her shin bone and then smoothly up again until it reached her thigh. He placed both hands around her thigh, and with firm strokes, rubbed up and down, searching for the answer as to why her leg wasn't working properly.
His hands lingered on her thigh and when her skirt was in danger of being pushed all the way to the vee between her legs, she sucked in a breath and pushed her hands down until she was holding the material tightly in her hands against her upper thighs.
When he'd touched and examined to his satisfaction, he kneeled back on his haunches and cradled her ankle in his hands, her foot propped against the hard muscles of his stomach. Her breath came quickly and became tangled in her throat.
"How'd it happen, Emma?" His hands caressed her absently.
"May I have my foot back please?" she asked.
Luke held her tightly by the ankle and heard the starch in her voice. "No, you may not," he answered in kind. "Answer the question."
Her flesh prickled at his continued touch, and shivers of delight were racing along her nerve endings. The feelings were altogether confusing and she thought it might be best to answer his question and then maybe he would release her. "I fell from a tree when I was a child."
"How old?"
"Twelve."
"Tomboy?"
Emma understood what he was asking with the one-word question. "Yes."
"Poor baby," he commiserated as his hands slid farther up her leg with every stroke. "Bad break?"
"Yes. I've had second and third opinions and been told that the doctor who set my leg was quite competent. It was a very bad break." Her voice stalled as if it was a terrible memory. "The bone protruded from the skin, you see."
"Here?" he questioned as his hand ran to a scar below her knee and to the right of her shin.
"Yes."
His eyes held hers as his hand swirled over the area as if he might soothe it in some small way.
"Does it still pain you?" She saw a tic in his cheek as he asked the question.
"Very seldom, and only when I abuse it," she answered, trying to make her voice sound matter-of-fact.
His eyes narrowed and his brows pulled together in a frown. "Like you did today?" His voice had gone low again, with an unmistakable threat of retribution coming from it.
Emma knew she'd made a mistake with that answer as soon as it left her mouth and made no reply to his softly spoken accusation.
His hands dropped to her other leg and he began stripping off the shoe and stocking from her other foot with economical motions.
"What are you doing now?" Goosebumps formed on her arms and legs as a shiver of reaction took hold.
"Getting you into bed. I want you to rest this leg."
"But I'm not hurt." Her words were a denial.
He had finished his task and lifted her legs and swiveled her body until she was prone on the bed. He picked up the duvet that was folded at the foot of the bed and shook it out and then spread it over her. "That's not the point. I think you need to rest and that's what you're gonna do."
Emma clutched the blanket to her chin and leaned against the pillows as he stared down at her. "You're being unreasonable."
He didn't respond to that but switched subjects altogether. "How old are you?" he asked with a hint of perplexity in his voice.
"Twenty-two." She didn't know where he was going with his line of questioning.
He moved away and shoved her footwear under the dresser and then turned back to her. "Who's been taking care of you since you're husband died?"
His words made her feel like an imbecile and she bristled under the covers. "I take care of myself."
He stood with his hand on the door and his eyes ran up and down her length, hidden under the covers. He gave her a small smile that seemed to contain a warning instead of any humor and his voice came out like a softly-spoken threat, "You used to take care of yourself."
Chapter Seven
Although is seemed next to impossible with the horror of the fresh memory of the snakes in her mind and Luke's scent both a physical reminder that he had been in her bedroom and of what had transpired, Emma did actually fall into a hard sleep and spent a good part of the afternoon in much needed slumber.
She didn't realize how late it was until she stood in front of the dresser mirror, repairing her hair and she heard a short, single knock on her door, and without any other warning, Luke walked unannounced into her room.
She dropped her hands from her hair and steadied herself on the dresser. He held a tray in his hands, and walked into the room and placed it on the bedside table. The aroma of beef stew and fresh bread activated her stomach and her subdued appetite came screaming back to make itself heard.
He bent down to adjust the knob on the kerosene lantern, and the dim light coming in from the setting sun was enhanced by the addition of the lamp.
With only a cursory look in her direction, he turned back to the door and prepared to leave just as quickly as he came in. "Maria has her hands full cooking for the men. I won't be back until tomorrow."
He started to leave and Emma called out to stop him. "Wait."
He turned back and Emma couldn't read the look in his eyes. "I can help her."
"No, you can't."
"Why?"
"You know how many men are gonna be coming in and out of there?"
"So many that she could do with an extra set of hands."
"No." His voice was adamant.
"Why?"
"You'll stay here until I get back. Then, when I'm with you, will be soon enough for you to be introduced to the men."
Emma gave up on the idea of helping Maria and turned the topic. "Where are you going?"
He lifted one dark eyebrow as if questioning her right to the knowledge. "Cody and I are headed out to one of the line shacks. It'll be dark when we get there and we'll have to stay the night."
His voice although evenly modulated seemed to hold something she didn't recognize and trepidation grew within her. "Do you think something's wrong?"
"Maybe. The man there should have been back two days ago for supplies."
Emma had realized before now that Luke was a man of few words. The explanation was concise, but Emma inferred that he was going to make sure the man was all right.
"Be careful." As Emma said the words, she felt color searing over her cheekbones as embarrassment crept through her. How would he react to the small words of concern that she hadn't been able to control before they spilled from her mouth?
She had her answer when he changed direction, walked to her and lifted her chin. "Do you care?"
She licked her lips and her eyes dropped from his.
His thumb left her chin and smoothed over her bottom lip. A rush of hot heat flooded her at the intimate touch.
"I'll be careful, Emma," he said in a deep, controlled voice. His thumb continued to move back and forth across her lip. "Maria will be here to bring you your meals and make sure you're all right, but she's going to be busy until Red gets on his feet again. I'm not going to be here to watch you, and Maria's not going to be around to babysit." His words were mild but she knew his meaning was not. "You're going to have to use the brain in that pretty little head of yours and stay in the house." Another swipe of the thumb. "Think you can do that?"
Emma was annoyed at the subtle tone of sarcasm in his voice. "I might."
Lightning speared through her as he dropped his hand to her shoulder and pulled her forward, his forehead dropping to hers and his breath mingling with the oxygen she suddenly found hard to drag in. "I hope you can, because I sorely want to come home and find you in one piece." His lips dropped to hers and brushed softly against hers, just once. "I want you to be alive when I get back, Emma-girl."
He trailed his long index finger up and down the side of her face and she felt a trickle of desire like warm honey slide through her.
His lips fell to hers again, this time firm and hard as they pressed against hers. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and Emma swayed more fully toward his torso and thought he was about to take her mouth with his tongue when he suddenly stiffened and pushed her away from him.
He steadied her before he let go completely, and then he turned and walked to her door. "Stay in the house," he barked.
Once again, the door shut behind him.
****
Emma wandered around the house for a day and a half looking for something to do until she found a box of worn clothing and during one of Maria's short visits to the house, asked her about it.
The clothing as it turned out, was Luke's, and was in need of mending. Emma offered to do it, and Maria was agreeable because she didn't have the time.
But now, sitting for hours in the quiet of the house, alone with her thoughts and only the intimate act of repairing Luke's clothing, her mind was once again taking a dangerous turn. As she sewed missing buttons back on and repaired minor tears in the fabric of his shirts, she thought about what it would feel like it she truly had the right to be in charge of the care of his apparel. It was a domestic duty, a wifely duty in fact, and her mind played all kind of tricks on her as she imagined if the house were her own, if Luke was her husband and it was her job to take care of him, and his home.
As the pile of clothing that she had repaired grew, dusk began to fall and just as she was wondering if he wouldn't make it home again that night, she heard the back door slam.
She heard the shuffle of his large feet, and then he was standing in front of her chair, looking down at her.
"You're back," she said simply.
"Yep." His eyes were brilliant as he took in the piles of his clothing all around her.
"Is everything all right?" Her eyes ran up and down his form, unconsciously looking for a mark or something out of place. She didn't see anything to indicate he was hurt in any way.
"Yeah. Buck's horse went down in the stream. Had to be put down. Cody'll go back tomorrow and take him another." He rumbled the words out in a deep, even voice.
"Oh, how sad."
"Yeah," he agreed shortly. "Guess you found something to keep your mind occupied."
She rolled her eyes at the tone in his voice. "Yes, sir, I did," she replied saucily and she knew he didn't want to linger over the subject of the lost horse.
"I'm starving. Come keep me company while I eat."
Pleasure raced down her spine as he turned back toward the kitchen, fully expecting her to do as he asked. She had no intention of refusing him.
She followed him into the kitchen and sat down and watched as he devoured the plate of food Maria had left out for him. He watched her as he ate, and a ribbon of curiosity slid down her spine. What would it be like if he were truly hers? How would his touch feel if they shared the same bed? She knew the bare basics of reproduction, knew it took a man's seed and a woman's egg blended together to make a baby.
But the only experience she had with desire or arousal she had learned from him.
"What are you thinking about so seriously?" He downed the glass of water after he took his last bite and studied her across from him.
Emma knew her face was crimson and her blood pounded. "Nothing." It was absolutely the only answer she could give.
Luke watched her with a scrutiny he couldn't hide. The girl was embarrassed and that had him wondering what she'd been thinking about to put that look on her face. He would take it slow, but he aimed to find out.
"How 'bout a game?" he drawled.
Her eyes flew to his. "A game?" Her voice was tentative.
His eyes narrowed even more and he felt the throbbing arousal that never much left him when in her presence. "Yeah. Checkers, cards, something like that."
"Yes, all right," she readily agreed.
He stood up, opened a drawer, pulled out a deck of cards and on his way back,
detoured to the back door with sure movements and slid the bolt home.
The lock made a solid click and hammered through the room.
He walked back to the table and saw her visibly swallow as she stared past him to the closed and locked door.
He ignored the look on her face, pulled his chair closer to her and sat down, as he dropped the deck of cards between them. He crossed his arms and leaned them on the table, quietly invading the space in front of her. "What do you want to play?"
"I don't--I don't know," her voice came out in a small voice, her mind evidently still on the bolted door.
"How about poker?" he asked her.
"Poker!" The word had a bit more of a bite as the idea of playing poker was no doubt shocking to her.
"Well, you got to choose last time, didn't you?" His words were casual.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"And I don't know any other card games, anyway. So poker's it." He took the cards from the table.
"But poker is all about gambling, isn't it?" she questioned him with a frown.
"Yeah."
"But gambling's wrong."
"Wrong from where you come from?" His eyes looked from the cards in his hands up to her face.
"Wrong anywhere, I think," she answered, her voice full of sass.
"Well, we're not gonna gamble for money, so the issue of right and wrong doesn't apply."
"That's good to know because if you think I'd be silly enough to gamble for money with a man that won his ranch in a poker game, you'd be mistaken." Her arms crossed over her chest and she lifted her chin and sent a glare in his direction.
"That's right smart of you, Emma," he admitted with a smile.
"What will we wager?" she asked him.
"Kisses." He shuffled the cards as if he hadn't said that.
"Kisses!" She sounded appalled.
"Yeah, kisses."
Emma was shaking her head in a negative fashion. "No, sir, not kisses. Think of something else."
"Clothes?" he fired back.
Emma looked confused as she studied him. "Why would you want my clothes?"
Luke could see her mind working as she tried to work out the equation for why he would want feminine attire. He was close enough to see her expression change when she figured out what he meant. Her face went white first, and then an adorable, fiery blush covered her cheekbones. Her mouth formed an 'oh' of shock, and then closed with a snap of her lips.