Emma put on a pot of coffee and presented him with a peach pie. “I made this for you,” she said coyly.
Emma had made him a peach pie? None of his clients had ever baked for him before. None had cared.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He hadn’t wanted to put his big toe over the line, but by baking him a pie Emma had jumped across it.
What should he do now? Admit his true feelings? Let her know he’d fantasized about her every night on the steamboat, couldn’t wait to get back to her, and wanted to make love to her for hours?
Before he said something he’d regret he filled his mouth with a bite of pie. “This is delicious.”
“I haven’t made a pie since…but I’ve had a lot of practice with baking.”
“Mm, that’s something I’m looking for in a wife; well I reckon every man would like a good cook.” His cheeks heated. The words slipped naturally out of his mouth.
Emma’s dazzling hazel eyes brightened, sparkling like crystal. “I hope you’re right.” She paused and leaned forward. “My husband didn’t want children. But I do.”
Frederick nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be a good mother.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“You said you have a younger brother. Tell me about him.”
Frederick shifted in his chair. Why did she care? “His name is George. I took care of him after our mama was sold.”
“Oh.” For a minute she was speechless and the awkward conversation paused. “Well,” she dragged out the word, “I’m glad you have each other. You’re better off than me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m an orphan and an only child. It has made many of my years lonely.”
Frederick poked at the pie with his fork. He didn’t want Emma to be lonely. “Have you considered getting a dog? Many are protective, too.”
She tilted her head as if considering this. “That is a good idea. But what I really need is a man.”
She stood, sauntered over to him and sat in his lap. They kissed and he sucked the crumbs off her lips.
She opened her mouth and he cautiously pushed in with his tongue. He brushed across her teeth and then explored her from cheek to cheek. She tasted sweet, divine. Soon her tongue pushed against his and they ravished each other.
Frederick withdrew and trailed his fingers down her hot neck. “Are you embarrassed?” he whispered.
“Not really,” she said softly. Her dark red skin said differently. “I just didn’t know a man would want in my mouth.”
Some men wanted more than their tongue in a woman’s mouth, but he would keep that to himself. It would shatter her sensitive sensibilities.
“Did you enjoy that?”
She smiled. “Yes, you taste as masculine as you smell.”
Her compliment gave him a heady rush. Frederick angled his head down and leaned in for a passionate kiss, fire simmering across his lips. Still sitting on his lap, she ran his fingertips across his crotch and his cock swelled in his trousers.
“Emma,” he groaned. “We don’t have time.”
She sighed. “I know.” Thankfully she stood instead of continuing the torture.
Frederick carried his dirty dishes into the kitchen. He glanced at the wood rack by the stove. It was almost empty.
“Ma’am, I’ll chop some wood for you before I go.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You made me a delicious pie. It is the least I can do.”
Frederick stepped outside and looked at the closed door. He wanted to sweep Emma off her feet and kiss her in the moonlight, devour her lips so passionately she melted in his embrace. It didn’t take a lot of money to show a woman you cared. He had learned that watching couples sparking on the plantation. A touch, a smile, a flower could make a woman’s heart soar.
He frowned, disappointment winding its way to the bottom of his stomach. Emma did not join him.
Well, the sooner he finished this chore the sooner he could return to her. He picked up the ax. It needed sharpening. He’d see to that on his next visit. Emma hadn’t asked yet, but he figured she’d invite him back. After all, he still owed her some bedroom pleasure. He’d sleep with her for free. He just wanted to feel her underneath him, her bosom heaving, a sated expression on her face.
He swung the ax with a rhythm of grunts and whacks. Pausing, he sniffed the air. It smelled smoky. Had someone lit a bonfire? It didn’t have the distinct odor of burning trash. There was a light breeze blowing in his direction. Maybe it was just a fireplace.
He had hated being a slave, just the idea of being owned. His life hadn’t improved much since then. Freedom meant little when you had nothing to call your own except for a little money and two sets of clothes.
Last year George had found him, left the plantation after the Yankees came through and said he was free. He made his way to the docks. Frederick increased his nighttime activities to help take care of him, and then he finally got him hired on with the Comet.
He shook his head. The money was nice, but he couldn’t imagine returning to his life as a prostitute servicing any woman who asked. The only woman he wanted to sleep with now was Emma. If she would have him, he would gladly serve her, devote his life to taking care of her needs around this place and in her bed.
He carried an armful of kindling into the kitchen. “I will come back tomorrow night,” he said, filling the wood rack. “That is, if you want me to come back?”
“Oh my, yes.” She laughed making his heart palpitate, the sugary noise lingering in his ears. He loved the rosiness in her cheeks.
“The Comet is getting some repairs done, so I will have two or three days off. Plenty of time for me to teach you another new position.” He winked.
Emma’s face brightened and the pink in her cheeks spread down to her neck. “I look forward to your next visit then.”
Chapter 9
Emma crawled into bed alone again. Tomorrow night Frederick would sleep next to her. She would just have to dream about him one more time. She closed her eyes and sighed. She pictured Frederick sliding his large hands down her soft curves, his calluses gently brushing her tender skin. He leaned his tall frame over her, kissing her until her knees buckled.
She would tell him how to touch her, how to hold her. Her reoccurring dream would come true in a few hours.
She opened up the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out her family Bible. It was the only connection she had to her family besides a pendant her mama had given her. She ran her hands over the black leather cover, worn with age and use. Turning a couple pages, she found the family tree written first by her great-grandmother, added to by her grandmother and then her mama.
She touched her great-grandmother’s name, the black ink slanted and fading. Zoe Dixon had risked it all for love. She’d paid for it too, but Mama had said she was happy.
Did she have the courage to do the same thing?
If only her mama was here to counsel her. She’d been on her own since the age of fifteen.
Her mama’s life had been hard. She died saying she wanted better for her daughter. So far she followed her mama’s advice. She married Hank because she knew it would have made her mama happy. A respected man with enough money to take care of her, never having to worry about her basic needs.
She could have that life again with Mr. Hawthorne. He didn’t have as much money as Hank, but he’d make sure she was clothed and fed.
It just wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to be taken care of. She wanted to be loved.
She looked up at the ceiling. “What should I do?” she whispered.
The terrified neighing of a horse answered her, stopping her heart. She jumped to her feet. Throwing on her coat, she ran outside in her nightgown. Smoke thickened the air, and she put her arm over her mouth and nose. Her barn was still standing. She couldn’t tell where the smoke was coming from. She ran in the barn to see if the fire was inside. Her carriage horses were on edge, they didn’t like the smell of smoke. They pranced i
n their stalls, and neighed in nervous protest, but were fine.
The warning clang of bells and banging of drums echoed throughout the night.
Fire.
Bits of ash landed on her clothing as she left the barn.
She tensed, straining to listen over the thunderous pounding of the fire horses—hoofs racing and striking the well-worn road. The horses pulled wagons carrying the steamer and other equipment to the fire. A dog’s shrill yip rang out. The Dalmatian was on duty running beside the horses.
Men shouted orders too muffled to understand. She held her breath and could make out the crackling of the flames licking some poor house or barn.
Where were they going?
She glanced around, but could not see any flames. Maybe it was a street over. She let out a silent prayer for whoever it was. Hank would have run to see if he could help. But there was nothing for her to do.
Should she dress and investigate? Hank said she had too much curiosity for her own good.
He’d be rolling over in his grave if he knew her curiosity led her to spend a night with Frederick. The roustabout had worked around her place because he had to back up his story, but he had done more work than necessary. Fixing the roof alone would have been sufficient. He seemed eager to please her—and not just because she was his client.
Yes, he hid behind that excuse. But the look in his eyes told more than his words.
Did he have feelings for her, or was it merely lust? If he did, he was still hiding them. It scared her to open herself up and not know if he would love her in return.
Her trail of thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Gooseflesh erupted on her arms. She scanned the area, unable to shake the feeling she was being watched. Someone was standing in the shadows. She couldn’t see who it was, but she could feel their eyes.
She felt exposed in her nightgown. Wrapping her coat tighter around her, she clawed the fabric. The man took a step toward her, his face half-streaked with moonlight.
Oh Lord. It was Mr. Hawthorne.
She hurried back inside the house, slammed the door shut, and locked it. Breathing hard, she ran into her bedroom, threw off her coat and hid under the covers. She needed Frederick. He made her feel safe. Being a single woman was terrifying. It was more terrifying than falling in love with a colored man.
At least she knew Frederick was gentle. She was afraid to find out Mr. Hawthorne’s intentions. Would he be bold enough to enter her house and rape her? She got out of bed again, padded over to Hank’s desk, unlocked the drawer, and pulled out his pistol.
She had never shot a gun before. But if he tried to force himself on her, she knew she could pull the trigger. She swallowed the sour thought and it nauseated her stomach.
Mr. Hawthorne was white. He could help her continue to pass as white in society, have all the things she’d become accustomed to. But she knew in her heart he’d treat her worse than Hank. She’d already suffered through one loveless marriage. She’d not torture herself with another. Her stomach took another violent roll and she breathed through her nose in an attempt to calm down. No! She would never live with another man for anything less than love.
Frederick. His dark face flashed through her mind. He set her body and mind on fire. He completed her in so many ways. Looked after her needs in ways Hank never had. She wanted, needed him by her side. But she would have to give up her social standing to be with him. Did she dare? Could she?
If he was wrestling with the impropriety of their love affair, he was not alone. She had second thoughts from time to time. But she had already spent three years of her life doing what was right. They had been three long, boring, passionless years. The house had turned into a prison, confining her to Hank’s and society’s expectations.
Yes, she’d take the risk for Frederick. She wanted to live and love and spend the rest of her life with him.
She would tell him tomorrow night. Hopefully he wouldn’t think she was crazy or merely living out a fantasy. Her feelings were real and she couldn’t deny them any longer. She wanted more than his body; she wanted his heart.
Chapter 10
Frederick bit his lip to keep from singing. No one would appreciate his singing voice, except maybe his mama. He hurried down the street as fast as he considered polite. He wanted to get to the Comet before daybreak, but he didn’t want to look like he had tried to rob the bank. Tomorrow night Emma would be his for a few precious hours.
Leaving her street, he turned the corner and came to a halt. Chaos erupted in front of him. Flames shot from the top of a barn roof. The sizzling and crackling battled the noise of the rush of water. Firemen sprayed the structure with their hoses. The barn was a complete loss, the hay perfect tinder. The fireman dowsed the ground around the barn desperately struggling to keep the fire from spreading.
The fire had drawn many onlookers as if they had all been moths attracted to the flames. Men and women gawked at the burning structure, shaking their heads or covering their mouths. Next to a hanging, a fire was the best attraction to hit town. Policemen gathered to keep an eye on the crowd.
Frederick was captivated like the rest, watching the firemen fighting the flames. He’d prefer being a roustabout to a fireman any day. Not as dangerous. Fire reminded him of the work of the devil.
It hadn’t occurred to him he shouldn’t be hanging around until the man who had seen him earlier that night caught his eye. His nostrils flared and his face flushed, nearly matching his auburn hair in the darkness.
The stranger called a policeman over and the two of them took quick strides in his direction. The hair on Frederick’s arms stood straight on end. The serious lines in the policeman’s brow and around his mouth made Frederick’s toes curl.
What was wrong? If they had found out about the true nature of his moonlighting, he would be surrounded by a lynch mob, not a lone officer on a mission.
“What are you doing here, boy?” the officer demanded.
“Just watching the fire, sir. Like the rest.” His explanation did not satisfy the officer. The man tapped his fingers on his thigh silently asking for more information. “I’m headed back to the Comet. I’m a roustabout on the steamboat.”
The officer nodded. “Uh-huh.” He paused and indicated the man next to him. “Mr. Hawthorne here claims you were milling around the neighborhood earlier.”
“I was not milling about, sir.”
“Watch your tone, boy,” the officer said, his mossy-green eyes narrowing.
His body temperature soared bringing on an instant fever. His gut clenched. Couldn’t he defend himself? Frederick licked his lips. “I was here, sir. That is true. I was hired. I fixed Mrs. Bennett’s roof and did a few other odd jobs. She gave me a dollar.” He pulled the crumpled bill out of his coat pocket and showed the officer.
“How long were you there?”
Frederick’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t like this line of questioning. He scuffed his shoe on the street. “I’m not sure, sir. Several hours. Why? Is there a problem?”
The officer glanced back at the fire. “I would say that was a problem. Wouldn’t you, boy?” The growl in the officer’s voice made Frederick take a step back.
He gritted his teeth, silently reminding himself to calm down and watch his tongue. “It is unfortunate, yes.”
“Mr. Hawthorne claims he saw you set the fire.”
“What?” Frederick exclaimed. That was ridiculous. “If you talk to Mrs. Bennett, she will assure you that I was with her.” Frederick spoke the sentence in one breath, his words piling on top of one another. “You can see the repairs on the roof.”
The officer nodded. “We’ll get it all sorted out in the morning. Right now I’d like you to come with me.”
Frederick gulped the smoky air. Smothering tension pressed upon him and his lungs ached.
The officer was a wiry man of average height. All his muscles tightened and he straightened his posture to make himself taller, legs parted, hands itching to fold into fists. They both
knew he wouldn’t be able to take him alone if Frederick didn’t cooperate. But running and being beaten into a bloody mess for his trouble would not help his case.
“Very well, sir,” Frederick said. “I will go with you. I am innocent. I have nothing to fear.”
The officer relaxed, the maliciousness in his eyes easing a fraction.
Frederick plastered his arms to his sides. Please no restraints. They brought back painful memories. Tears pricked his eyes as he remembered his sister chained and sold and then a few months later his mama.
The officer put a hand on his back and escorted him down the street. The knot in Frederick’s chest slowly unwound. Not posing a threat had advantages. But he was still headed to jail.
The officer opened an empty cell. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Frederick slumped onto the hard mattress along the far wall. His tall body did not fit well into the small space and he was forced to draw up his knees. He resisted a smart comment. The accommodations were far from comfortable.
He closed his eyes, the darkness soothing. For a moment he blocked out everything but Emma’s face, illuminated by lantern light—teasing him with her gentle smile.
“I’m making some coffee. Would you like some?” the officer called into the room.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He might as well drink some coffee. He doubted he would get much sleep.
The officer handed him a cup of hot coffee through the bars. Frederick forced a smile. “What is the penalty for starting a fire?”
One of the officer’s eyebrows arched. “A few years hard labor, I reckon.”
Frederick frowned. Great. Well, it couldn’t be much worse than being a roustabout except for the same scenery and iron bars and chains.
“I thought you said you were innocent,” the officer said with a smug expression.
Frederick took another drink of coffee. Anger and fear wallowed in the pit of his stomach. “I am. But I have little faith in the courts.”
Dead silence.
Frederick steadied his breathing with great effort. The officer knew how it was. Colored people were falsely accused and convicted all the time.
Midnight Caller (Moonlight Romance) Page 5