by Leah Atwood
When she looked at the valise, she was dismayed to realize that none of the clothes looked familiar. She pulled each garment out, stricken to realize that Mrs. Daniels had packed all new clothes, bland attire of which Emma Lee was certain Garrison would approve for living out here. That a valise had been packed for her, not a trunk, should have been a clue to something.
The door to the house—Emma Lee still wasn’t sure it qualified as an actual house—opened and Garrison walked through, his arms full of boxes.
His gaze landed on the clothes spread over the bed. A surprised half-grin appeared. “Good to see you have some sense after all.”
Emma Lee sucked in a breath—she’d never admit the bag’s content surprised her as much as it did him. “You underestimate me.”
“Perhaps you are right.” He set the boxes on the table. “I took a look at the boxes before bringing them in. There’s enough food prepared for tonight’s dinner, and supplies for around two weeks, I figure. Dried meat, canned vegetables, flour.”
“I’ll sort through it after I clean.” Relief swept over her that she’d have an extra day until her lack of cooking skills was exposed.
“There are a few more boxes. Don’t worry about the bedding—Sheriff sent along clean linens.” He was out the door before she could respond.
CHAPTER SIX
The hard floor beneath Garrison was cool, the only good thing he could say about his sleeping arrangement. He’d spent many a night sleeping on the ground, under the stars, but after his time in jail, he’d welcome a soft bed. Sitting up, he reached behind him and adjusted the sheet he’d rolled up for use as a pillow before he reclined again.
Not the scenario he’d imagined for his wedding night, but then, this wasn’t a typical wedding night, not even a real marriage, per se. There was no future for him and Emma Lee, and for that, he was grateful. The woman was a disaster-in-waiting, at least when it came to the qualities he desired in a wife if he ever wanted to marry.
Domestic skills she lacked in abundance, and that couldn’t be blamed on her mourning, like her outburst of sobs earlier. Despite her best efforts, the house wasn’t much cleaner than it had been when they arrived. At suppertime, he’d asked her to make some coffee, and he wasn’t sure what he’d drunk, but it most assuredly wasn’t coffee. At least not like any he’d ever tasted before. Then she’d ripped the hem of her dress, and he’d watched with amusement as she tried in vain to seam it back together.
But she did have grit, and that was something he had to admire. Although the final result wasn’t impressive, Emma Lee had put in a hard afternoon of trying to make the little house presentable. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever had to clean a day in her life. Probably not.
Also, after her breakdown shortly following the mouse incident, she’d not uttered another complaint. There were a few times he’d seen her lips quiver, or her eyes darken to indigo as she fought tears, but she pressed on, keeping her composure.
Yes, underneath the outward fluff and daintiness, she was a strong one. Nothing could steal her spirit—instinctively, he knew that after watching her throughout the day. True, she was grieving now, as anyone would in the same situation, but she would overcome and do what she must to survive.
He was loath to admit it, but he’d been wrong about her. Beneath the surface, there was an entirely different Emma Lee than outward appearances implied. Worse yet, he discovered her indomitable attitude attracted him and that would never do. Just because he held a grudging respect for her, didn’t mean he wanted to be her beau. Their lives were too different.
She was wealthy. He was a hired gun. She was a part of the class who’d made his mother’s life miserable, and had looked down on her, teasing her and mocking her. The familiar bitterness rose in his throat and he tried hard to tamp it down. He couldn’t blame Emma Lee for other’s selfish piety. If he was honest, he’d been doing exactly that since the sheriff had given him his assignment this morning.
He rested his head on the makeshift pillow and closed his eyes. Everything about this day had been a surprise. Sleep overcame him. Some time later a blood chilling scream pierced his eardrums, awakening him from peaceful slumber.
His hand automatically reached out and grabbed the Peacemaker. He surged to his feet, the screams continuing. Seconds later, he realized the harrowing sounds came from Emma Lee. She thrashed in bed, exhibiting all the symptoms of a nightmare.
“Don’t shoot,” she shouted. “Father, don’t die,” she wailed.
Severe pains stabbed his chest and his heart ached for her—he didn’t have time to examine what that meant. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed, putting the Peacemaker beside him. He held one arm over her chest to keep her arms from flailing, and with the other, gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Emma Lee. You’re having a nightmare.”
“No. Why’d you do it, Luther?” Emma Lee still yelled in her sleep.
Shaking her a little harder, he said a little prayer, something he hadn’t done in years. “Help her, Lord.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when Emma soared into a sitting position, her breaths coming ragged and hard. “What happened?”
“You were having a bad dream,” he said, trying to inject soothing tones into his voice.
Her body trembled beneath his hand. “I remember now. It was horrible.”
“I imagine so.”
“I can’t stop thinking about my parents and what their final thoughts must have been. Did they feel betrayed? Did they know they were about to die?” She gripped his arm, probably unaware she did so. “The questions haunt me.” She didn’t say anything else, but he knew she was crying quietly.
He scooted closer to her and embraced her. At first it seemed inept—he wasn’t used to comforting a woman and didn’t know much about consoling. He’d made it a habit to not become involved with a female. Yet he couldn’t sit there and do nothing. To his shock, Emma Lee leaned into him. His arms wrapped tighter around her, and he continued to hold her until her tears and trembling subsided.
Letting go of her, he waited to see if she’d say anything. When Emma Lee remained silent, he stood, meaning to return to his spot on the floor.
An arm reached in the dark and took hold of him. “Wait, don’t go yet.”
Without a word, he again sat on the edge of the bed.
“Will you stay by my side tonight? I’m scared.” The high-pitched fear in her voice was palpable.
He knew what it must have cost her pride to admit that to him. Protective feelings he’d not experienced in years filled him. Even though he guarded people to make his living, it was always a job, never personal. With Emma Lee, that was changing. She’d lain back down, and he smoothed her hair away from her face. “I’ll stay.”
“Thank you. You must think me weak.” Her words were partially slurred from the beginning stages of falling back asleep.
“On the contrary,” he whispered, “I think you’re stronger than you ever realized and you’re just now receiving the opportunity to demonstrate that strength.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The tops of the biscuits were a golden brown—just how she had hoped they would be. If the taste was dictated by looks alone, then surely they would be delectable. Maybe, just maybe, she’d finally created something edible. She’d given up on bread—every attempt yielded a loaf that either didn’t rise or was so dry it couldn’t be swallowed. Biscuits, however, gave her hope. The first few batches were burnt or hard, the next several hardly palatable, but each time they improved.
She took a biscuit, halved it, and then spread strawberry jam over the flaky tops. Holding it to her mouth, she took a bite. It was delicious, exactly like the ones her family’s cook had always made. Her smile widened, and she was proud of her accomplishment, no matter how small it might seem to someone else.
I can’t wait for Garrison to try them. The thought took her by surprise. He was her husband in name only, and she wouldn’t even say they were friends. Aft
er a week together, they’d formed a cordial existence, but he maintained a polite distance. Still, a part of her wanted him to be impressed, to show she wasn’t a failure when it came to home matters. She knew plenty, only about different facets of running a home. When it came to decorating or entertaining, she could outshine anyone, but those skills would mean nothing to him—knowledge she’d gleaned through short bits of conversation they’d had.
There was a moment he’d shown approval, respect even, but now she believed she must have imagined his words their first night at the house. Dream or not, the words still ran through her memory, and she wanted to prove that she was stronger than anyone thought.
A long sigh came out. Why did she even care what he thought? It’s only because of our proximity, she reasoned. They’d been together for seven days, alone with no one else with whom to speak. Until now, the only times they were out of eyesight from the other was for times privacy was needed. By circumstance, Garrison was her sole support during her time of grieving so it was natural she’d care what he thought, wasn’t it?
She finished her biscuit and returned to her chores. The work was never-ending, even for such a small house, but she didn’t mind. The busyness kept her mind off her parents and she found the work to be satisfying in a way she’d never have expected. Her body, and particularly her feet, ached by nightfall, but it was a good feeling to know she’d accomplished something.
The entire ordeal had shown her how many things in her life she’d taken for granted. Her parents, her family’s financial blessings, even her next meal, as they’d run out of dry meat last night. Garrison had left earlier to go hunting. He’d left one of his revolvers with her, instructing her to shoot at the first sign of anyone, whether they appeared friendly or not.
She wanted to finish the cleaning before he returned. Keeping the house free of dust was a constant struggle, especially with the window opened to enjoy the late spring breeze. After the first day she’d learned that if she swept first, then dusted the few furnishings, it helped tremendously.
A noise outside caught her attention. Peeking outside, she saw Garrison had returned and went to greet him. He looked especially handsome today and had shed his usual vest and overcoat, wearing only a white shirt and black trousers. The casual attire made him appear less dangerous, more approachable.
One day, she’d find out what had put him in jail. The only thing she’d been able to pry from him was that he shot the wrong person. She’d also discovered that he was a hired gun, and while that should have terrified her, in reality it made her feel safer. Sheriff Daniels wouldn’t have concocted this plan if there were any threat of Garrison harming her.
She stopped her woolgathering and stepped toward him now that he had gotten off his mare. “Any luck?”
“It’s skill, not luck.” His arm rose, proudly displaying his catch of a rabbit. “Think you can make a stew?”
“I can try.” How she hated the idea of wasting the meat, knowing full well a stew was well outside her capabilities.
“On second thought, how about I roast him?” He winked. “I never did care much for rabbit in a stew.”
Relief poured through her, and her pride didn’t even think to be bruised. Fresh meat was too much a delicacy to waste on her attempt at cooking. “I made a new batch of biscuits. Would you like one to hold you over until supper?”
His mouth twisted into a wry expression. “I’ll save my appetite.”
“They’re good—my best yet.” She hated the pleading, pathetic tone to her voice. Hopefully, it was only in her imagination.
“Is there any jam left?”
“Yes.”
“One biscuit wouldn’t hurt then.” He set the rabbit down outside the door and walked into the house.
Emma Lee followed and went to the table where the biscuits still sat. As she’d done with hers earlier, she halved one and slathered it with jelly. It was a shame they had no butter or cold milk to pair with the snack. She handed it over and watched with anticipation while Garrison took the first bite, chewed and swallowed.
He took another bite. And another. “This is really good. Maybe you could make a stew.” Garrison winked again and her heart fluttered.
“Why, I do believe you have a sense of humor after all,” she drawled, exaggerating her accent.
“Don’t let the word spread.” A wide grin took over the bottom half of his face. It was the first time she’d seen him truly smile—from joy, not out of mocking at her expense.
Her heart skipped a beat again. Uncustomary shyness took over, and she turned away. Garrison’s presence did strange things to her, made her feel things she didn’t understand. She was beginning to realize her relationship with Luther had been superficial. The attraction to him was based on his position and his doting upon her. The more he complimented her beauty, the more she liked him.
With Garrison, it was different. She wanted him to see her as a capable being, not just a beautiful woman—if he even thought of her as one, which she doubted he did. What that meant, she didn’t know. She was too confused to sort out any of her feelings.
Behind her, she heard his chair being pushed, and then the sound of his footsteps. His hand rested on her arm with a feather touch. “That was real good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Breathless at his touch and scared by her own reaction to it, she didn’t look at him.
“I’ll be outside preparing the rabbit.” He let go. “Holler if you need me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Molten gold and scarlet flames danced, teasing the roasting rabbit, but never touching the meat. Garrison could have cooked it in the oven inside. He also could have waited to go hunting—a day without meat wouldn’t have hurt him or Emma Lee—but he needed space.
Feelings he didn’t want to have wouldn’t go away. He’d promised himself to never fall in love because it only led to trouble. His mother was a perfect example of that. On the off chance he did fall in love, it would be with someone who didn’t need grand parties and hordes of attention to make her happy. She would be a woman who was humble, modest and content with a simple life. Not someone like Emma Lee.
That was exactly why he needed to put some distance between them. He’d thought this assignment would be easy if not tiresome from dealing with a debutante. However, his preconceived notions of Emma Lee were being deconstructed at a rapid pace, but he couldn’t reconcile this woman with the immature young lady he’d seen in town.
Which Emma Lee was the real person? His chest rose, then fell as he expelled a long sigh. Did it even matter? As soon as the sheriff had his evidence, Garrison’s assignment would be over, he’d have his freedom, and then move on to the next opportunity.
You could always take your money and settle down somewhere.
Rubbings a hand along his jaw, he thought about the idea. Was he ready for that? A long time had passed since his stay in one place had extended more than a year. At six months, he’d spent more time in Mucksbe than anywhere else. He had to get away. If he kept down this line of thinking, he’d soon have himself in front of a preacher then holding babies.
“How much longer do you think it will be until the meat is ready?”
Turning his head, he saw Emma Lee standing at the door. “Another ten minutes.”
“I’ll go ahead and set the table.” Her feet pivoted, and she began to go back inside.
“Wait,” he called out. “It’s a nice evening. Let’s eat outside.”
She looked at him, blinking several times. “I’ll bring a blanket and set up out here.”
Once she was inside, he rubbed his neck. Why had he gone and suggested that? Picnics were for families, or courting couples, neither was a category in which he fit. The self-control and possession of his emotions he’d kept a tight rein on was slipping away from him.
Emma Lee returned several minutes later, carrying a basket in one hand and a blanket under her other arm. Garrison took three steps to meet her and took the blanket for he
r, then proceeded to spread it over the ground, near the fire. Kneeling down, Emma Lee opened the basket and pulled out two plates, an empty platter, a tray of biscuits, and a bowl of garden beans.
“I cooked them with the leftover bacon grease from yesterday.” There was a hitch of uncertainty in her voice.
Had he tried so hard to keep her at a distance that he’d hurt her? “That should give them a nice flavor.”
She gave him a small smile. “I forgot something to drink. Coffee or water?”
“Water is fine.”
While she was gone, Garrison removed the cooked meat from the fire, slid it off the skewer, and placed it on the empty platter. When Emma Lee came back, he was slicing it and putting pieces on individual plates.
Garrison sat with his knees bent and legs crossed, a full plate in front of him. “Sheriff Daniels should be stopping by any day now. He said he’d check on us in a week.”
“I wonder what news he’ll bring.” Emma Lee picked at her food but didn’t take any bites.
“Hopefully he’ll have arrested Luther, and we can go on about our lives.” He stabbed a piece of meat and brought it to his mouth.
Another bite of food was in his mouth before he realized Emma Lee hadn’t replied. Their eyes met, and a wounded expression tightened her facial features.
“I’m sorry to be such a burden to you, Mr. Gray, but it’s not as though I asked for any of this.” Immeasurable sorrow filled her tear laden eyes. “At least you have a life to which you can return. My life as I knew it has ceased to exist.”
Never in his life had he been so insensitive. He set down his fork and reached a hand to her. “I’m sorry, Emma Lee. I didn’t mean my words how you interpreted them.”
“Yes, you did.” Her voice shook, but her gaze never wavered even as she jerked away from him. “You’ve made perfectly clear your opinion of me.”
Stunned, he watched her rise and walk away. He’d have felt better had she stomped and made a commotion, but the dejected slump of her shoulders as she quietly disappeared into the house ripped a hole of guilt in his gut. The small bit of a woman had gotten to him, undeniably and irrevocably so.