Emma was pretty certain Chloe had suggested to Big John that he should bring his new foreman along to the gathering, so he could become acquainted with the community. Her goal had surely been to distract Emma from Fulton.
The banker was seething behind the cordial smile he offered Big John. Emma’s gaze shifted from her escort to the smiling Joellen and finally to Steven, who was watching her steadily. She thought she saw herself reflected in those unflinching hazel eyes, lying naked in a field of daisies.
“I don’t suppose I could have a dance with Miss Emma,” Big John thundered, his beaming smile full of friendly confidence.
Even in the worst of circumstances, Emma would have had a smile for Big John. She moved easily into his arms as the band tuned up inside, leaving Fulton, Steven, and Joellen on the sidewalk.
“I confess to some confusion, Miss Emma,” John Lenahan told his dance partner as they swept around the floor at a reckless pace. “I thought you and Fulton, Jr. were all through.”
Big John had always been kind to Emma during his visits to Chloe, and she’d come to look upon him almost as a father. “We are,” she answered, only then realizing that her partner had steered her from the front of the dancehall to the back.
They stepped out into the starlit night, and Emma was grateful for the cool breeze from the lake and the moments of relative privacy. People had been staring at her ever since the dance started.
“I’m so confused,” Emma confessed, and then she began to cry.
Big John took her into his strong arms. “There now, little one, don’t you feel bad. Junior’ll get over the loss of you soon enough.”
Emma pulled her handkerchief from under her sleeve and blew loudly. “Yes, but will I get over the loss of him?” she wailed. “It’s true that I don’t love him, but who am I to be so choosy?”
The rancher laughed. “Can’t say as I really think you’re going to be losing much by cutting Whitney loose, Emma.”
“Just respectability,” Emma said, sniffling again. “And a home of my own. And children.”
Big John put his hand under her chin and lifted. “Respectability’s got to come from inside you, Miss Emma. Nobody else can give it to you.”
Emma dabbed at her eyes with her wadded handkerchief. Big John was right, though she didn’t want to admit it. Respectability wasn’t an honor someone else could confer on a person. It had to be earned.
She gave her friend a shaky smile. “It isn’t going to be easy, you know. Fulton is a persistent man.”
“The right way may not be the easiest, but it’s always the best,” Big John replied. Coming from anyone else, the words would have sounded preachy. From him, they were rock-solid.
Emma drew in a breath of the night air and held its sweetness in her lungs for a long moment, then released it. “I think I’m in love with Mr. Fairfa” she said all in a rush, and the admission surprised her more than it did Big John.
In fact, he didn’t seem the least bit taken aback. He nodded and said, “I guess we’d better be getting back inside, Miss Emma. Junior doesn’t worry me, but I wouldn’t like to find myself on the wrong side of Mr. Fairfax.”
Emma took Big John’s arm and he led her toward the door. “Has he ever told you what—or who—he’s running away from?”
“No, Miss Emma,” the rancher answered, pushing open the door. “My guess would be, you’ll be the one he tells, and that won’t be until he’s damn—darned good and ready.”
Emma preceded Big John through the doorway and came face-to-chest with an agitated Fulton. For one terrible moment she thought Steven had told him what had happened on the island that day, and she swung breathlessly between horror and relief. Then she caught a glimpse of Steven, dancing with Joellen, and knew instinctively that he’d left the task to her.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Fulton complained to Emma, though he had a banker’s smile for Big John. “I thought you’d fallen ill or something.”
Emma shook her head. “I’m fine, Fulton,” she said. “I just need to talk to you in private, that’s all.”
“Certainly, darling,” he said icily, again leading her toward the front door.
Panic seized Emma as Big John disappeared into the crowd. It was then that Steven, watching her over the top of Joellen’s glowing blonde head, caught her eye and held it.
She knew she couldn’t live a lie, even for one more day. “About today…”
He cut her off in mid-sentence by pulling her out the door and hoisting her into a nearby buggy.
“Fulton, wait!” she gasped, but he only reached for the reins.
A polite but reluctant spattering of applause sounded from inside, on the dance floor.
“Stop!” she said again. It was true she’d wanted to speak with Fulton where no one else could hear, but she didn’t like his manner or his eagerness to be alone with her.
Fulton released the brake lever and would have driven off if Steven hadn’t suddenly appeared to take a firm hold on the harness and stay the horse.
“I believe the lady wants to stay right here,” he said smoothly.
Fulton’s jawline went taut with some inner violence, but then his gaze dropped to the bulge on Steven’s hip—the ever-present .45—and laid the reins down.
The banker swallowed visibly. “You’ve done enough, Fairfax. Leave us alone.”
Steven approached and held out a hand to Emma, and she took it, at once relieved and terrified. “Miss Chalmers owes me a dance,” he said and then, calm as you please, he turned his back on Fulton and ushered her back inside.
She collided with his hard masculine chess he pulled her into position for a waltz, and Emma suffered no illusion that the contact had been accidental. Rather, it had been an all-too-poignant reminder of what had happened between them that day.
She looked up into Steven’s eyes, helpless to turn away.
“Were you going somewhere, Miss Emma?” he asked.
She sighed and tried to pull free, but his arms were as immovable as if they’d been carved from tamarack. “I was going to tell Fulton the truth about what happened today,” she said finally. “Once I’d done that, he would have been more than happy to take me home.”
He arched an eyebrow skeptically but said nothing.
Emma was fast losing her patience. “Let me go, Steven.”
“Mr. Fairfax,” he corrected, to her utter amazement.
“What?”
“I told you before,” he said, pulling her back into his arms when she would have fled. “In public, I want to be addressed as Mr. Fairfax. You may call me Steven in private.”
It took all Emma’s resolve not to stomp on his instep. “That is both arrogant and old-fashioned!” she hissed.
Steven shrugged. “Then I’m old-fashioned. We’ll argue about the arrogant part later.”
Emma was shaking her head. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes,” he said.
“Well, I’m not going to do it!”
He made a tsk-tsk sound. “Now, Emma, you know better than to challenge me like that. It just won’t get you anywhere.”
Emma’s breath was coming in hard, ragged gasps, and it wasn’t because the dancing was strenuous. “I have enough on my mind without you giving me ridiculous orders, Mr. Fairfax.”
Steven glanced toward Fulton, who was watching them from the doorway, his eyes so hot with anger, they seemed to glitter in the half-light. “Furthermore,” he went on, with a longsuffering sigh, “I’ll thank you not to go out riding in the middle of the night with men such as Fulton Whitney. Your becoming his wife doesn’t even bear thinking about.”
“I don’t remember getting a better offer from you,” Emma pointed out sourly.
He chuckled. “And you won’t, darlin’. But you will get everything you need.”
Emma would have slapped him then and there if it weren’t likely to cause a scene that would be talked about for years. “Maybe I still want to marry Fulton
. Did you ever think of that? Maybe he’ll understand and—and forgive me for what I did with you.”
Steven laughed outright at that. “Forgive you? No man forgives that, Miss Emma, not unless he’s a real fool. Face it, your chances of becoming a Whitneyville Whitney are too dim to read by.”
Blessedly, the music stopped at that moment, Emma propelled herself out of Steven’s arms and marched over to Fulton, who was standing sullenly beside the pastor’s spinster sister.
“Fulton,” Emma said forcefully, taking his arm. “I must speak with you. Right now.”
Fulton looked furious, then surprised, then pleased. “All right, my darling.” This time, he knew better than to take her outside, so they slipped into the darkened hallway leading to the hotel kitchen.
There was a window, and Emma could see that the moon was high in the sky, riding between the tops of the First Territorial Bank and the Stardust Saloon, looking like it was going to roll right down the street, all big and glowing. The craters and mountain ranges were etched on it like veins on a baby’s head.
This was no time for admiring the moon, however. Fulton obviously had other ideas. He gripped Emma’s arm and twisted her around to face him.
“What kind of game are you playing?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.
Emma swallowed. “I have something to say,” she said, trying to maintain a little distance even though Fulton was towering over her and standing so close that she could hear his watch ticking over the noise and music in the dancehall.
“What?” he snapped.
Emma tried to squirm away, but it was no use. Fulton was right there, breathing in her face. “If you could just step back a little…”
Fulton remained exactly where he was, and with a groan he bent his head and began nibbling on her earlobe. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to get you alone like this.”
“We’re not alone,” Emma pointed out, beginning to realize that she could be facing certain very unpleasant difficulties. “The whole town is in the next room, remember?”
“They won’t hear us over the music.”
Emma wriggled under Fulton’s arm and landed with a breathless thump on the other side of the hallway. “In the name of heaven, Fulton Whitney, will you listen to me?!”
He raked his hands through his usually neat hair. “Very well, Emma,” he said, with an indulgent sigh. “I’m listening.”
“You must know that I went to the island for a picnic with Steven Fairfax today,” Emma blurted out.
Fulton nodded. “I know,” he said.
Emma gnawed at her lower lip, searching her mind for the right words to tell Fulton the truth and get him to leave her alone without being unkind. “You see, Mr. Fairfax and I talked and, well, there was this field of daisies—”
Fulton wasn’t looking at her face, he was looking at her bosom. And she would have sworn he still wasn’t listening. “Daisies?”
Emma could hear the merriment and the raucous fiddle music beyond the hallway door. She wondered whether Steven was back in Joellen’s arms or waiting somewhere nearby.
“You don’t need to tell me wh happened,” Fulton said in a low voice, trailing a fingertip from the pulsepoint at the base of Emma’s throat to the delicate underside of her chin. “I’ve already guessed.”
You’ve guessed?” Emma wasn’t really surprised; she figured the entire town probably had a pretty accurate idea of what had transpired while she was on the island with Steven that day. It was Fulton’s collected manner that took her aback.
He neither recoiled nor exploded. He simply stood there, his features all in shadow, his voice low and even. “You and the gunslinger?”
Emma looked away then, and nodded. “Yes.”
“On the island today,” he clarified calmly.
By then Emma was beginning to sense the suppressed fury that lurked beneath his placid demeanor. “Yes,” she said again, swallowing. Lord knew, she had no desire to hurt Fulton, but it wasn’t as though he’d ever had any real claim on either her affections or her loyalty.
Fulton’s hand grasped hers, and it was not a reassuring contact. His fingers squeezed until her knuckles bunched together, sending a piercing ache shooting up her arm.
“Why?” he ground out. “Why did you let him—let him have you, when you’ve hardly allowed me to hold your hand all this time? Good God, Emma, we’ve been seeing each other for months, and it was only a few days ago that you finally let me kiss you!”
She tried in vain to pull away. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered.
“Tell me why!” Fulton rasped, increasing the pressure until Emma thought she’d surely faint from the pain.
“Because I love him!” Emma cried in desperation and sudden, terrible fear. “Please—let me go—”
He released her, but not before applying the excruciating pressure once more. “You love him,” he said. “He’s a saddlebum, an outlaw—a gunslinger! And you love him?”
Emma was too frightened, for the moment, to speak or move.
“Damn you!” Fulton breathed, and suddenly he gripped her again, this time by the waist. He hauled her roughly against him, and she felt his desire for her, but the feeling wasn’t the same as it had been with Steven. This was frightening.
“Fulton!” she gasped, and the struggle to free herself took so much of her energy that she had none left for screaming.
He crushed her against the wall and began pulling up her skirts, and Emma ceased fighting long enough to drag a breath into her lungs. Before her shriek could escape, however, Fulton covered her mouth with his own, grinding his lips against hers, invading her with his tongue.
Again there was nothing of the sweet warmth she’d known in Steven’s arms. Born in the roughest part of Chicago, raised by a worldly woman who knew the dangers a young lady might be called upon to face, Emma dw her knee up hard into Fulton’s groin.
The impact made him release his hold on her. He doubled over, groaning. She watched him turn sideways and brace one shoulder against the hallway wall, his breath tearing in and out of his chest, his eyes feral with fury in the half-light. Emma marveled that she had never seen this side of him, never guessed at the cold brutality secreted behind that bland facade.
Squaring her shoulders and smoothing her skirts, Emma forced herself to walk away slowly, hiding her fear as she would from a growling dog. Her first and foremost instinct was to break into a frantic run.
She half-expected to find Steven waiting for her when she returned to the dance. Instead, he was squiring Joellen around the floor, smiling down at her and laughing at something she’d said.
For Emma, the evening had been disastrous. Looking neither left nor right, she marched toward the front door and out into the cool sanctity of the spring night.
The music seemed to follow her down the street, and the surface of the lake, doing its glittering moon-dance, failed to offer its usual solace. Reaching the safety of Chloe’s front porch, Emma dropped into the shadowdraped swing and gave vent to all the emotions she’d been holding in.
She’d given her heart, as well as her body, to a man who could offer her virtually nothing except sensual abandon. And Fulton, a man she had once liked and trusted, had betrayed her in the most fundamental of ways. Her dreams of a respectable life, a solid marriage, a happy family, were all shattered.
Her tears did nothing to cool the heat of shame in her face. Nearly sick with grief, Emma wrapped both arms around herself and rocked. For all her efforts, she was really no better than her mother had been. All it had taken to steal her virtue was one handsome, sweettalking man.
The hand closing around her elbow made her give a startled gasp, for she hadn’t heard the usually squeaky hinges on the front gate or the sound of footsteps on the walk.
She drew in her breath to scream, but a moment before the cry would have escaped, Steven sat beside her, draped in the lace-strained light of the parlor window.
“You told him,” he said.
&nb
sp; Emma wrenched her arm free. She was tired of being grabbed, wrestled, and jumped. “Yes,” she spat. “And he didn’t take the news well.”
“Can’t say I blame him,” Steven responded in a slow, barely discernible drawl. His grin flashed bright as lightning against an ink-black sky, and Emma felt herself melting in its heat. “You’re not the kind of woman a man likes to lose.”
She slid back against the arm rail of the swing, as though to slacken the power he wielded over her, but he only pulled her close again. “Steven, I’m really very ti—”
He cut her off with a kiss that made her fling her arms around his neck and give a sigh that vibrated all the way down to the soles of her feet.
Emma’s toes curled inside her dancing slippers, and when Steven’s tongue teased the corners of her mouth, she opened herself to him. At the same time, he raised his hand from the side of her waist to cup her breast, cry wo thumb lightly brushing her nipple to taut attention. Wanton heat rushed through Emma’s veins and muscles, and she wanted nothing so much as to lie down in that shadowy swing and give herself to Steven without reservation.
But just as suddenly as he’d begun the kiss, Steven ended it, holding Emma back from him so that the light from the front window splashed over her face. He studied her for a long moment, then laid the tip of an index finger to the very spot on her neck where Fulton had touched her earlier. “What happened?”
Emma averted her eyes briefly, then looked straight into Steven’s face. “Fulton became—overexuberant.”
“Overexuberant?” Steven mocked, but there was a funny half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Emma bristled, and her eyes dropped to the ever-present holster and pistol on his hip, then shot back to his face. “Don’t you ever take that thing off?”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied huskily. “I take it off when I go to bed.” He took Emma’s braid lightly in his hand and rubbed his thumb over it, as though memorizing the feeling the gesture produced. “I’ve got to leave on the drive tomorrow, early. I’m here to say good-bye.”
Emma and the Outlaw Page 15