Emma's Blaze (Fires of Cricket Bend Book 2) (16 page)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

Bill

Just as the women left the saloon, Bill noticed that Matthew immediately ordered a beer. No doubt the surprise of learning Hank had written to his wife made the man want a drink.

Bill hated bringing trouble.

Matthew Frank was a good man; he was the one who’d brought Theo’s body back to the drive so he could be buried by his family. A year earlier, Bill had noticed something was gnawing at the young deputy. Something had him lost in thought, and cast a shadow over his blue eyes. Knowing what Bill now knew, he wondered how much of Matthew’s trouble had been due to their current confusion regarding Hank Porter.

“New Orleans,” Bill began with a shrug, He carried his own beer to the table where Matthew sat. “That’s a damn sight farther than two days’ ride.”

Matthew’s grip on his mug tightened. “When you run into Porter, tell him, if he ever writes my wife another letter, I’ll find him, and kill him where he stands.” From the coldness of Matthew’s voice, Bill knew he wasn’t lying. Maybe Haven had been smart not to tell him about the letters before. “He caused enough damn trouble while he was here. He doesn’t get to do it now that he’s gone.”

“Understood.” Bill nodded. “I look forward to delivering that message. You want me to deliver it with my fist?”

A small grin appeared on Matthew’s face. “I won’t be mad at you if it happens that way.” He took a drink. “Emma is Hank’s wife. How about that?”

“Yep.”

“Damn.”

“Yep.” Bill reclined in his seat. “He took her money and some other things. Caused her lots of trouble.”

“That’s his way,” Matthew replied. “Trouble every step of the way. Forgive my asking, but are you sure you can trust her?”

It was a valid question; Bill had wondered about it himself. He could tell Matthew the whole story, start to finish, and maybe the deputy could share some insight which would clear Bill’s jumbled thoughts. Maybe Matthew would respond with something that would break down the walls of confusion and set him straight on what exactly he was supposed to do.

“I love her,” Bill said. It was the only answer he had to give.

Matthew understood. “Well, that’s a good enough reason.”

The two men clinked their beers and drank.

“So you’re a husband now, getting ready to be a father, and Callie’s taken over this place.” Bill noted the fine shape the saloon was in. “What’s Braxton up to these days?”

“Wish we knew. A couple months after everything happened, he went off to take a body back for the bounty and never came back. We haven’t heard from him. We’ve got posters out, and telegraphed every operator around, but we haven’t heard anything going on eight months now. It’s like he up and vanished. Or worse.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I liked that grumpy bastard.” He remembered Jack Braxton, scowling and irritable. He’d accompanied Matthew to bring Theo’s body to the drive the year before, and though he’d certainly not been a friend of Andrew’s, Bill had figured he was the kind of man he could trust his life with.

Matthew nodded. “Me too. So, New Orleans.”

“New Orleans,” Bill repeated. “I’ll send a telegram up to Sweetwater. Someone from the drive will get it, so they don’t think we’re lost.”

Matthew stood up. “We got maps of the best routes over at the jail. You want ’em?”

“That would be a big help. Thank you.”

After finishing their drinks and a trip to the jail for a lengthy perusal of the maps, Bill and Matthew studied the routes to New Orleans. Traveling by boat would be easiest, but Bill wouldn’t leave Orion and Maggie behind. It would have to be a land journey on horseback, so they set a route.

Bill bid the deputy farewell and went for a shave, vowing to find a few minutes to get a bath before he left town again. Getting rid of his beard, which he’d grown since the day the drive had let Laredo, felt good. Between that, and the journey that lay ahead, it felt like a new start.

When Bill saw Emma again, she wore newer, cleaner trail clothes. The pants and shirt she wore this time around were obviously meant for a woman; she no longer swam in them. The brown trousers didn’t need a belt to stay up, and the blue long-sleeved shirt she wore clung better to her lean shape. Her hair had been pulled back into a braided twist, and she carried herself with more grace than Bill remembered.

She was the prettiest trail hand he’d ever seen.

“You shaved,” Emma noted.

“I did,” he rubbed his jaw. “You look good.”

“Callie scrubbed me until I thought my skin would bleed,” she answered as she came down the steps toward him. She stopped two steps from the ground, making herself just a tiny bit taller than he was. “And Haven looked at my ankle, says its healed well.”

“That’s good,” he answered. “I figured out our route from here to New Orleans.”

“Our?”

“Yes.”

“I assumed we’d be going our separate ways from here.”

“I told you back in those woods that you were stuck with me until you got where you needed to go. And Cricket Bend ain’t it, it turns out. So, we’re going to New Orleans.”

“We,” she repeated, as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“I’m right here, ain’t I?”

“I wish I knew why.”

“You know why.”

Emma came down the last two steps to the ground. “How long a ride is it?”

“Two weeks.”

She groaned audibly. “If we go all that way, and Hank isn’t there, I’ll kill him.”

Bill nodded. “Not if I kill him first. I figure I’ll stop at Harper’s store and get supplies. It gets greener the more east we go from here, so there’ll be rivers and ponds aplenty, and we won’t have to haul a water barrel. Matthew gave me a route that should cut around some swampland that the horses wouldn’t be able to cross.”

They started walking, side by side, discussing what to purchase for the ride. Rain slickers were a must, as they’d be getting into the wetlands and rain was more common. They’d also need dried beef and pork, and some potatoes and beans. They went behind the buildings, aiming for the stable and the horses. “Did Haven say anything about where exactly Hank is supposed to be?”

“Not yet.”

“You been to New Orleans?”

“Always wanted to go,” Emma said. “I hear it’s like nothing else in the whole world.”

Voices interrupted them—a man’s and a woman’s, both raised. Bill picked out Haven’s voice first. They were about to wind up right in the middle of an argument between the Franks. Quickly, he pulled Emma into hiding behind a pile of crates. There wasn’t much room, so she backed against the wall, and he pressed against her. Bill’s hand lay on her waist, and she took hold of his coat to pull him in even more. They stayed still and silent.

“Matthew—”

“Letters. I can’t believe that son of a bitch wrote you letters.”

“Only two,” Haven replied. “And I burned them, I told you.”

“That ain’t the point. I can’t stand knowing he’s still in our lives,” Matthew protested. “That bastard nearly…everything we have he nearly stole away. I worry every day that he’s going to come back and take you away from me.”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I told him not to. Besides, he can try all he likes. I won’t go with him.”

As they talked, Bill had plenty of time to realize how close he and Emma were, how their bodies were gently pressed together. He felt her breath, and he inhaled the soft floral smell of her hair. Bill slightly shifted his weight, and looked down at her as he did so. She looked up at him, and they found their lips only an inch apart. Damn, but he wanted to kiss her.

Matthew’s voice interrupted them. “Hank might not give you a choice. Wouldn’t put it past him to steal you away, same as he did before.”

“I’m big as a house right now,” Haven retorted. “You can rest easy. It’d take at least two men to lift me, and I pity the poor horse they put me on. Echo can barely handle me these days.”

For a moment, there was silence. Matthew started to laugh. As Bill peeked, Haven kissed Matthew, and he lovingly wrapped his arms around his wife. Bill wondered at the way a husband and wife, who cared for and understood one another well enough that they didn’t have to use words, could be so familiar with each other. An embrace could be forgiveness. A kiss could be a promise.

He’d thought Emma had kissed him with promises.

He wanted to forgive her. With her lips only inches from his, he nearly did right there and then.

“Are you tired?” Matthew asked.

“I’m always tired these days,” Haven answered. “And it’s been a big day. Can we go home?”

Bill watched as Matthew and Haven went off together, arms around each other.

Emma’s back was still pressed against the wall of the building, and she clutched Bill’s jacket in her fingers. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m like Hank, and I don’t care to be like him, wrecking people’s lives, as if they don’t matter. I do care for you, Bill. I think I might even love you, if I know what love is.”

“Then let Hank go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why? You don’t have to go after him. From what I can tell, he’s never done anyone who’s known him a lick of good.”

“I want my money, and I want to see him. I want to look in his damned green eyes—the eyes I once thought were so beautiful—and see if he has any idea that he hurt me, or if he even cares. I want him to hurt too. I want to rip his heart out.”

The violence in her tone made Bill stop. Emma was holding it together, but barely. On the inside, she was bleeding red from a big open wound of anger and hurt. She’d kept it hidden before, but it seemed it was time for more to be said. “Don’t you get it? He charmed Haven the same way he charmed me all those years ago. Damn him and his ability to make a woman feel like he’s all she needs, only to poison her and slither away like serpent. I want to find him and tear his heart out and step on it.”

“Then let’s go find him.”

She shook her head. “I’ve caused you enough trouble. You go on back to the drive, and I’ll see to Hank.”

“Dammit.” Bill bumped his fist on the wall. “Do you have to fight me every step of the way? You need to end this, and I’m going to help you do it.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe, once it’s over and you can see straight, you’ll remember that I am in love with you. And, unlike your husband, I’m not one to throw those words around. Now get back to your room at the saloon and get some sleep. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

“To go back to the drive?”

“To find Hank. So you can be done with him.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll figure ourselves out. He’s like a big fence stopping us from going anywhere right now.”

She reached for his arm, but Bill pulled away and started to disappear into the shadows.

“Where are you going?”

“Going to check around and see if there’s any sign of Andrew. Then I’ll head to the hotel and catch some sleep. I’ll meet you at sunrise. I’ll be out front of the saloon with the horses.”

“You could stay with me,” she offered.

Bill’s throat closed at the idea of being with her again. It was the only thing he wanted in the world, and also the dumbest choice he could make. Until they found Hank, there’d be no more fooling around. The man was too damn big an obstacle.

“No, I couldn’t. Goodnight, Emma.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

Emma

Callie insisted that Emma sleep in one of the rooms above the saloon. Formerly, the rooms had been occupied by the working girls, who had plied their trade in private delights. Since taking over, Callie had stopped hiring whores altogether, and had also done some renovations. Two of the upstairs rooms were now joined together by a door between them, where she and Nate lived. The other rooms were currently vacant, and mostly used for storage. Emma was put in a small room toward the end of the hallway, which Callie kept open and ready for guests.

On the bed lay a pretty blue and white quilt. On top of the quilt was a nightgown.

It had been months since Emma had slept in clothes other than the ones she’d worn during the day prior. Delighted, Emma stepped out of her new clothes and underthings, and slipped into the soft fabric of the nightgown. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t believe how different she looked. Her face was browned, and her hair had lightened from all her time under the sun. Once, she’d heard someone say that a proper lady would take care to keep her skin as pale as possible, to indicate that she was too refined to work outside like a common laborer. Looking at her face, and the color she’d earned, Emma felt pride. She’d always been lean, but her body showed strength it hadn’t before. All the hard work had changed her, body and mind.

She crawled into the comfortable bed, pulled the blankets up to her chin, and nearly fell asleep right then.

But when she was in a room with a comfortable bed, she couldn’t see the stars.

Being all alone unnerved her. The gentle sounds of cows, men, horses, crackling fire, wind, and coyotes had been the music she’d grown accustomed to falling asleep to, and none of it could be found in that room.

When she’d slept outside at night, she thought she hated it. But now she missed it.

She recalled laying with Bill under the stars. He’d told her the names of the constellations. She remembered the smooth coolness of his skin, and the way the hair on his forearm tickled her cheek as she’d lay against him. The beautiful cowboy with the crinkly smile loved her, and she had hurt him. How she wished she could take it all back. If she could, she knew she would have never met him in the first place.

Without him, she’d never have known love.

Even if Bill rode off that evening and never returned, he’d given her that. He’d loved her, and she’d loved him. For the first time in her life, things had been sweet and easy. Even if Bill rode off, he’d leave her with hope that there was other love in the world she might find.

Not that she wanted anyone but him.

The idea of Hank as a lover had all but faded from her mind. In the time Hank and Emma had been together, he’d made her feel like a princess without ever truly knowing her. He’d molded her, made her into what he’d wanted and needed, and moved on. That hadn’t been love, as much as she’d tried to tell herself otherwise. All the baubles in the world didn’t hold a candle to what she’d felt with Bill.

Emma drifted off to sleep, thoughts still tossing around in her exhausted mind.

A noise woke her, and as she opened her eyes. The form of a man came through her open window. Immediately, she froze.

Of course she knew who it was.

He paused, as if to let his eyes adjust to the darkness for a moment. Then he moved toward her bed.

“Dammit, Andrew,” she said. “You’re like something a woman can’t scrape off her boot.” Jumping up, she got on the opposite side of the bed from where he was. Unfortunately, he was between her and the door. “You thinking to slice my throat like you did to poor King?”

“The stupid cow didn’t even see me coming.”

“You’re a monster. He was marvelous.”

“He was a dumb beast.” Andrew shook the knife in his hand as he came around the bed toward her. It was Emma’s cooking knife; the one he’d sharpened in front of her. “I bet you’ll give me more trouble than he did.”

Cornered, Emma swallowed before she spoke.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head,
little
brother. I intend to.”

She tried to knee him between the legs, as she had before. He was wise to that move and sidestepped her, grabbing a handful of her hair and jerking her toward the window. “No one’s around here to help you. Bill’s off somewhere looking for me, and the Sheriff and the deputy are home and tucked snug into their beds by now. By the time they get back, they’ll find pieces of you all over this room.”

With her cheek pressed against the glass of the window, Emma saw the quiet town. After how far she’d come in life, like hell if was going to die in Cricket Bend.

She grabbed for the curtains with one hand, and tore them down. The curtain rod fell. Andrew loosened his grip on her. Turning, she twisted so his arm twisted with her, and he let go. She quickly made it to the door, which she unlocked quickly and managed to open a sliver. She screamed as loud as she could through the crack before Andrew slammed it shut. The revelry down in the saloon was noisy, and there was a strong likelihood no one heard her. Andrew grabbed her and pulled her back so she fell on the bed.

He leered, evil eyes wide and shining in the reflection of the bedside candle.

“What are you going to do once you kill me?”

“I’m going to go find an old friend. He’s a friend of yours too.”

“Who?”

“Why, the lovely proprietor of this saloon.” Andrew laughed to himself.

“Callie,” Emma said, remembering what Haven had said, that Andrew had beat the tar out of Callie a time before. Clearly, he hadn’t just come for revenge on Emma. Too mad to think, Emma dove forward for him, intending to claw his eyes out and pull out every hair on his head. But to do it, she had to get off the bed, and Andrew noticed her movement too soon. As she got on her feet, he grabbed her neck, and squeezed.

The squeezing grew harder. Andrew leered into her face with demonic eyes, which were bright with a sick glee.

Emma couldn’t breathe. She figured he could break her neck and kill her, just as easy as strangle her. It’d be faster. He most likely wanted her to suffer, and would make her death last as long as possible.

“Bill,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear her.

“Bill’s not here,” Andrew said in a sing-song tone that chilled Emma. He pushed a thumb up under her chin, and she felt a shot of pain as her vision grew blurry.

She heard the sound of breaking glass. A brown liquid poured down over Andrew’s face as his grip on Emma loosened, and he dropped her back to the bed. She scrambled back from him as best she could, clutching her own throat against the pain.

Andrew spun around to see who had hit him.

“Jeepers.” Callie stood behind him with a broken bottle in her hand, looking ready to strike him again. “You damned McKenzies never go down easy, do you?”

Andrew took a step toward Callie, but she swung the bottle and cut his arm. He yowled before he bolted from the room.

Callie raced after him, and Emma followed behind. Down the hall of the saloon they went, and down the stairs into the main hall. Men drank and reveled. The piano player had half the room singing a song. The disruption of Andrew pushing through the crowd got attention.

“Stop him!” Callie yelled as she came down the stairs pointing her bottle Andrew’s way.

As Emma watched, clinging to the railing of the steps, several of the men in the saloon stood up and reached for their sidearms.

Callie dove down the stairs to the landing, and Andrew looked at her with pure, devilish hatred contorting his face. With whiskey still dripping from his hair, Andrew pointed at Emma. “She’s a murderer. Have her arrested.”

Not a man in the saloon moved. Callie put her hands on her hips.

“Callie?” one of the men asked. He was older, and holding a pistol in the one hand he had.

“Emma is my friend,” Callie said as she came down the stairs toward Andrew. “And this man tried to kill her while she slept, not three minutes ago. A few days ago, he slaughtered a prize longhorn and nearly killed his own brothers in a stampede. If anyone should be arrested, it’s him.”

Emma saw Andrew’s eyes dart around, and there wasn’t time to yell before Andrew lunged at Callie with the knife he still held. She swung her broken bottle again. Andrew jumped back, and darted for the door of the saloon, with his knife still extended.

If he got away, he’d surely come back madder than Hell, Emma knew. He’d come back and kill her, or Bill, or Callie, and there’d be no stopping him.

She ran down the stairs, meaning to go after him.

Right as Andrew got to the doors of the saloon, Jasper appeared. He held a wooden chair in his hands, and Emma stopped in her tracks when she realized what he was going to do. With a mighty swing, he slammed the wooden chair into Andrew. The criminal flew off his feet and fall back on the floor.

Jasper tossed the chair aside. He pulled a pistol from his belt. “Don’t move, you son of a bitch,” he said without taking his eyes off Andrew.

“Jasper!” Callie called in awe.

“Bill’s out looking for him.” Emma rushed forward. She heard the desperate note in her own voice. When she thought she was going to die in that room, not seeing Bill again had been the one thing she regretted. She needed to see him right then. Tears swelled up in her eyes.

Callie came toward her, and set her broken bottle on the table. She looked to the men in the saloon. “Hill, Ed, either of you feel like riding to bring Bill McKenzie back here?”

“I surely will,” a man said. He nodded to Emma and left.

As Jasper held his gun and his gaze on Andrew, another man knelt down and tied Andrew’s hands behind his back with some rope. The man kicked the knife Andrew had been holding to the side, and Emma picked it up.

“Seems a waste of good whiskey,” Jasper noted, after seeing the broken bottle.

“I owed him that,” Callie said. “I owed him worse, but this’ll do for now.”

Emma felt faint. Her knees threatened to give out on her, but Callie took her arm. “Are you all right? Oh, honey, no, you’re not.”

“Hey now, Miss Emma, don’t you cry.” Jasper took off his coat and tossed it over to Callie, who slipped it onto Emma. She led Emma tenderly to a small table by the front window of the saloon, which overlooked the street and sat her down.

Emma felt frozen. For a decade, she’d run from the fear of a painful, brutal death. That fear had caught up with her at last, when Andrew had tried to murder her just minutes earlier. He’d had his hands on her throat, wholly intent on ending her life. Her gut, along with a few others’, had told her he was the devil, and every single one of them had been right.

A bespectacled man stepped up to the table.

“Ben, this is Emma,” Callie said. “Get her as many drinks as she wants.”

The bespectacled bartender gave Emma a friendly smile. “Ma’am. What’s your pleasure?”

Her pleasure was Bill and the open range. Men filled every corner of the saloon. Most were looking strangely at her, and she hated it. The air smelled of booze and men and cigars. It turned her stomach. She’d left that life behind when she’d departed from Fort Worth, never intending to return to it. As she heard the sounds and smelled the smells of the saloon, she remembered why.

“Miss?”

The bartender waited for her answer.

Emma looked up at him. “I would like whiskey. And lots of it.”