Liz Ireland (10 page)

“What brings you here, Rose Ellen?” Barton asked her once he’d seated her on the waiting bench and offered her a glass of cool water. “You didn’t come back to Midday for the sole purpose of breaking my heart again, did you?”

Rose Ellen dimpled and chuckled. “As if I could!”

Barton stared at her, transfixed. In his mind, it seemed as if Rose Ellen were a porcelain figurine filled with gold, and that if he shook her, coins would spill out from the soles of her feet.

“Frankly,” Rose Ellen went on, “I felt I had to come and see about dear Emma.”

Bart frowned at the thought of getting sidetracked by the subject of Emma Colby. “Everything’s all right at home, then?”

“All right!” Rose Ellen exclaimed in dismay. “Emma’s got that house topsy-turvy with her crazy ideas.”

Barton shifted impatiently. Emma again! “I meant back in Galveston…everything’s all right back there?”

Rose Ellen blinked her long dark lashes. “Oh, yes.”

“Your husband…is he doing well?”

“Edward?” she asked, seeming surprised that Barton would care about him. “Of course. It’s Emma I’m worried about. Oh, Barton, the gossip about that McCrae girl is terrible!”

At the very mention of the name McCrae, his face paled with anger, and Rose Ellen suddenly slapped a palm on her cheek and exclaimed, “Oh, I’m sorry…I forgot that William…”

“My brother hardly even spoke to that girl,” he replied hotly. Then, catching himself, he forced a smile. “But I was surprised to hear that Emma would take that woman in at such a time. What was she thinking?”

Rose Ellen clucked her tongue. “Frankly, Bart, I’m afraid Emma has gone a little batty.”

He laughed. As if
that
was news. “Word has it that she was in town yesterday telling everybody she was going to turn the house into a hospital.”

“More like a lunatic asylum! Emma’s out of control, I tell you. The house is all different, that terrible girl is there, and then there’s some other little boy upstairs—goodness only knows where Emma rounded him up. And to top it all off, she’s got some strange man renting out Daddy’s old room—and a more bad-mannered fellow you’ve never
met in your life!” She looked at Bart pleadingly. “Now I ask you, what can I do?”

“Do?” Bart asked. “About what?”

“About Emma!”

Barton sighed. For heaven’s sake, was he going to have to waste their precious time gabbing about some thickheaded spinster woman? “Forget about Emma. Let’s talk about—”

“Emma’s got some crazy notion that she can just live alone and make up her own mind about things!” Rose Ellen shot to her feet in frustration. “I know it’s just because she’s out here all alone, and vulnerable.”

Barton bit his lip, thinking. “Then maybe you should stay a good long while, Miss Rose Ellen, and use your influence on her.”

Rose Ellen huffed. “Emma’s got some idea that she’s going to make money all on her own and be independent.”

Now here was something, finally, to prick up his ears. “How?” He was always interested in money-making schemes.

“Well, the boarder, for one. Mr. Archibald.”

Barton considered boarders for a moment, regretting that the Sealy house had burned to the ground. He almost envied Emma, except that he suspected her enterprise was doomed. “I can’t imagine your sister profiting too well by her hospitality, if that’s what you’re worried about. Why, I went by the house just the other day and she didn’t even offer breakfast. Or even a scoop of well water.”

Rose Ellen shook her head. “Mr. Archibald has Emma convinced that she can make money farming the land.
Farming—Emma!
”

Bart frowned. “Does Emma intend to marry this Mr. Archibald?”

“God forbid!” Rose Ellen exclaimed. “Though how
should I know? Emma no longer takes me into her confidence about anything.”

“But I thought—” Barton cut off his words and worried his lower lip.

Rose Ellen tilted a curious glance up at him. “What?”

He felt uncomfortable prying, but he couldn’t help himself. Right now the money matters of others were just too interesting. “But I just assumed that Miss Emma would have to give up the house.”

“Why?”

“Well…I just naturally assumed…most people did…that your husband would prefer to sell the land.”

“Finally!” Rose Ellen exclaimed. “Someone who thinks as I do! That’s just what I told Edward ought to be done!
I
thought it would be better if Emma came to Galveston and took care of things there, but the trouble is,
we
have no say in the matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because Daddy left that whole farm—the land, the house,
everything
—to Emma and Emma alone.”

Barton fell dumbstruck—it took a moment to completely comprehend what she was telling him. Plain, mousy Emma Colby had that big house and that farmland all to herself, on top of whatever other assets Doc had? Barton didn’t know flip about farming, but if he had someone doing all the work for him, that would be an entirely different matter!

“I guess Daddy felt sorry for Emma,” Rose Ellen went on, “because she’s so…well, you know. Plain.”

“Emma? Plain?” Barton repeated, almost gagging. Crikey, he couldn’t believe the thoughts racing through his head…Emma Colby! He, who could have had Rose Ellen, the prettiest woman in the county, was now contemplating stooping to settling for her sister. “Of course she can’t hold
a candle to
you
, Rose Ellen. Who could? But she has other qualities that make up for her lack of beauty. She’s very…” He grappled long and hard for something that would compensate for a woman’s not being pretty. The word
rich
came to mind, but of course he couldn’t mention that. “Hardworking.”

“Well, of course,” Rose Ellen said. “I don’t mean to be uncharitable, and in her own way, Emma’s as precious as she can be. All I’m saying is, it’s going to be mighty difficult for a woman like Emma to find a husband, especially if she takes up peculiar notions like the ones she’s latched on to lately! Especially if she sets herself to working like a common field hand. Can you imagine?”

Bart looked at her sharply. “Who is this Mr. Archibald you were telling me about?”

“The boarder—if you could hear how rudely he spoke to me!”

Barton rubbed his clean-shaven jaw, suddenly not liking the idea of this boarder, even if he did mean money in the bank. “When did Mr. Archibald get there?”

Rose Ellen shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t see any man there when I was there a couple of mornings ago,” he observed.

Rose Ellen puffed out an exasperated breath. “He seems as much a fixture as the porch columns. Why, he practically runs things, as far as I can tell. That’s the trouble with women living alone, you know, they’re apt to fall under any kind of influence…or that’s what Edward always tells me.”

Barton’s eyes narrowed. “Have you seen them kissing or anything like that?”

Rose Ellen blushed. “Heavens, no! Though they did take a walk together last night. But Emma isn’t a flirt—you know that, Bart.”

She batted her eyes at him again, a gesture he barely noticed at first. He was too intent on Emma. Was Rose Ellen right—was Emma lonely…and vulnerable? He needed to get to her quickly, before somebody else horned in.

“Barton?”

He snapped back to attention. “You were right to come to me for help, Rose Ellen. I’d be glad to try to talk some sense into your sister. Why, a hospital and a farm—whoever heard of one little woman doing all that?”

If she could start a farm, there would be good income on that land. All he would have to do is step in and manage things.

“I could almost weep with relief!” Rose Ellen exclaimed. “Really, Barton, you don’t know how hard it is to find someone to take my side in all of this. For months I’ve been telling Edward that we need Emma in Galveston, but he keeps saying that what Emma wants to do is none of his business. Sometimes he can be so unfeeling!”

Barton
tsk
ed sympathetically. “Which leaves
you
to worry yourself sick about your only sister!”

Rose Ellen’s eyes practically had tears in them. Come to think of it, he was glad she had married someone else. Let poor Douglas deal with this vain, meddling nag.

“Would you be willing to come over and talk to Emma?” she asked. “Maybe you could make her see what a fool she’s making of herself. Tell her how much happier she’d be in Galveston. And how much less lonely! I’m sure she’d listen to you.” She grinned. “Poor Emma…you know, back in the old days, I used to think she was a little sweet on you….”

Barton’s brows arched in surprise. “Really?”

Rose Ellen chuckled. “Yes, isn’t that sad?”

It was hard to keep from rubbing his hands together with
glee—although he couldn’t say he’d noticed any affection from Emma that morning he visited her. “I don’t know…maybe I’ll have more luck with her that way….”

Emma Colby…practically an heiress! He could still hardly believe this windfall. And lo and behold, his job was half accomplished—she liked him!

Of course, he couldn’t say much for Emma herself, and he certainly wasn’t doing handsprings at the prospect of bedding her. But he didn’t really need to worry about that. There were plenty of pretty women elsewhere, women willing to give a man a tumble for the price of a few coins, and once he married Emma, he could sample as many of them as he pleased.

Of course, Emma did seem to have eccentric crusading ideas, which was troubling. But as her husband, he could just nip all her idiotic notions in the bud. Once he married her, what was hers would be his, and she would be sworn to obey him. And if she didn’t want to obey, he wasn’t one bit squeamish about knocking some sense into her.

Rose Ellen reached out to touch his arm, to thank him. “I certainly hope she’ll listen to you.”

He grinned, twinkling at her just as he used to. “I’m sure glad you came by, Rose Ellen. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, I wouldn’t mention all this around town. There’s enough gossip about Emma already.”

“I won’t. I hate to think of people gossiping about the family! Don’t be long coming out to see us.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You can bet the farm on that.”

“If I had a farm,” she said, winking. “Remember?”

The sheriff grinned back. “How could I forget?”

“W
hat are you doing, Aunt Emma?”

Emma jumped in surprise. She’d been so absorbed in drawing a rough sketch of the layout of the farm’s acreage for Lang that she hadn’t heard Annalise come into the kitchen. Now the girl was staring up at her, her elbows propped on the small kitchen table, her inscrutable gaze fastened on Emma’s face.

“I’m drawing a picture.” She turned the page toward her niece. “Can you guess what it is?”

“It’s this house and all of what’s around it,” Annalise said, not missing a lick.

“Oh.” Emma was astounded by her niece’s quickness—she wasn’t that good an artist. “Yes, that’s right.”

Annalise pointed out the different landmarks that had clued her in. “That’s the house, that’s the barn, that’s the back pasture….”

Emma nodded, impressed.

“Can I draw it?” Annalise asked. “I’m good at drawing.”

Emma gave her the pencil and another piece of paper, glad for something to keep her niece occupied. Rose Ellen was upstairs with a headache, napping after her tiring trip
to town. Lorna wasn’t feeling well today, either. And of course, Davy and Lang were under strict instruction not to leave their rooms. A houseful of sick people was not the best company for a little girl, and Emma’s mind was else-where—half the time drifting out into the fields, imagining them cultivated and blowing with wheat and corn, the other half upstairs with Lang.

She feared her interest in the man wasn’t purely agrarian. Not that she was an authority on immoderate feelings. She had never had a real beau before, but she could swear if she had, this is exactly how she would feel. Exalted and terrified. Hopeful and despairing. She waited breathlessly for the next moment when she could see Lang, and she dreaded that she might be making a fool out of herself.

Being sweet on an outlaw showed fearfully poor judgment, even an outlaw who was protesting his innocence. She’d had so little experience with men. For so long she had been simply invisible around Midday, especially to the opposite sex. At dances she’d always been a wallflower, one of those young women who would try to entertain the chaperons to cover the fact that none of the young men were interested in her at all. She’d serve up punch and laugh dutifully at old people’s jokes she’d heard a thousand times—anything to avoid standing at the side of the dance floor waiting awkwardly for an invitation that would never come.

Lang made her feel different. For the first time in her life. She wondered if he even realized it.

She hoped not.

Despite her determination not to encourage him, after a few moments of absently stirring beans she bolted out of the kitchen, up to his room. He answered her light knock and she slipped inside his room, grinning. She hated how
she was acting—her interest in this man was so unseemly!—but she couldn’t help herself.

He looked her up and down and smiled; his dark eyes always made her feel the way she had that night she’d drunk all the brandy, warm inside and light-headed. “Have you come to beat me at cards again? It’s not fair, now that I’ve confessed to not being a gambler.”

She laughed. “I’m just checking to see that you’re getting your rest.”

“How can I rest when you keep interrupting?”

She crossed her arms. “If you would stop getting up all the time, I wouldn’t feel the need to check up on you. There’s more than your own health at stake, you know. There’s my livelihood and the future of my hospital!”

Lang raised his hands in surrender. “Well, when you put it like that, I’d be a cad not to sleep more. And from now on, whenever you give me directions, I’ll simply say ‘Yes, nurse.”’

“That’ll be a switch!” she joked.

He bowed his head solemnly, as if practicing. “Yes, nurse.”

She took a few steps into the room and rocked mischievously on the balls of her feet. It was ridiculous, what she was doing—attempting to flirt with her captive audience. But for some reason, she couldn’t help herself. “Then you’ll really rest, and not fuss like Davy?”

“Yes, nurse.”

“And you’ll eat everything I bring up so you can regain your strength?”

“Yes, nurse—even if you brought me a meal that wouldn’t tempt the Donner Party, I’ll lap it up like a puppy.”

She laughed. “I’m working on one of those right now.”

He nodded. “I know. I smell it burning.”

Emma frowned, then stilled, sniffing.
Smoke!
Her eyes widened, and she whirled on her heel, emitting a sharp yelp of unhappiness. She streaked back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Annalise sat calmly staring at the smoke seeping from the oven’s crevices.

Emma grabbed a tea towel and yanked open the oven, releasing a plume of black smoke that permeated the kitchen immediately. Coughing, she reached in and retrieved the burned bread and tossed it to the old sawbuck table next to the stove. The loaf of pecan bread lay charred and steaming, almost as if it were laughing at her. Now she had a houseful of sick people and she’d destroyed part of their dinner.

Annalise came over and, standing on tiptoe, inspected the bread solemnly. “You could just scrape off the burnt parts.”

Emma sighed, then looked down at the piece of paper in her niece’s hands. It was Annalise’s rendering of the farm, and though a child’s drawing, it was considerably better than her own had been. While her own house had been a mere block with two chimneys, Annalise had made the house look more realistic, with the porch outlined, and flowers exactly where they were placed around the house. How could she have remembered such details from just one short day here?

“Annalise, that’s very good!”

Her niece blinked at her, uncomprehending. “The cook at our house always scrapes the burnt part off if she leaves something in the oven too long.”

Emma pointed to the picture. “I meant your drawing. You’re a very talented girl.”

Annalise smiled. “I like drawing people best. Can I draw you, Aunt Emma?”

“Of course, I’d be flattered!”

Dutifully, the little girl turned and marched over to the table again and took up her pencil. As she looked up and began to study Emma, her face fixed in concentration, Emma felt her heart twist in recognition. Annalise might look like a miniature of her pretty mother, but her serious personality reminded her more of herself at that age.

She went ahead with dinner, scraping carrots and throwing them in a pot of hot water, then decided the bread might be cooled enough to investigate it to see if anything could be salvaged. She reached to her knife block to remove the small carving knife for the delicate surgery, but found the knife missing. Her brow furrowed in thought. “That’s funny,” she muttered to herself. “My paring knife’s gone.”

Annalise looked up and practically squirmed with anticipation. “I know who took it.”

“You do?” Emma was surprised.

“It was that man.”

“Mr. Archibald?” Emma couldn’t believe it.

“He took it last night after everyone was asleep,” Annalise said, looking inordinately pleased with herself. “I saw him. I heard him and that little sick boy who Mother told me not to talk to talking through the door. It woke me up.”

Those rascals! All she needed was for Davy and Lang to be in cahoots. And to think he’d just been fooling her with his “yes, nurse” routine!

Emma crossed her arms, shaking her head at her two wily invalids. Then, slowly, a different feeling began to suffuse her. Panic. Lang had stolen a
knife?
What for?

What else?
was the answer that echoed through her brain.

Her hand flew to her mouth, and she felt as if all the
blood rushed out of her head at once. “Oh, my heaven!” Lang Tupper, outlaw, armed, was not a good combination.

She whirled and ran out of the kitchen at a frantic sprint. What a fool she’d been! Taking in a man she knew was suspicious…not handing him over to the sheriff when she had the opportunity…letting him make her believe that he was a wronged, innocent man! Making her wonder if he cared for her, when really he was simply biding his time, waiting to murder them all in their beds!

She hit the stairs running, tackling them two at a time, when suddenly a loud knock sounded on the door. Emma spun on her heel, her heart racing. There was another, louder knock.

No one could answer the door but herself, yet she needed to talk to Lang. Could there be some more innocent explanation for having taken the knife?

She turned, straightened her dress and patted down her hair, then bent her steps toward the door. When she pulled it open, she nearly fainted with relief to find Barton Sealy on the other side. “Sheriff! How good to see you!” She practically yanked the lawman across the threshold, and brightened to see the impressive revolver nestled in a holster at his hip.

The handsome sheriff beamed at her. “I sure hope you don’t mind my coming by here, spur-of-the-moment and all.”

“Of course not.” In fact, his arrival seemed like a godsend, as if he’d somehow sensed her trouble and was coming to her rescue. Should she tell him right now about the outlaw? She looked up into his twinkling blue eyes, which were watching her very closely, and felt her heart do a nervous flip.

He was eyeballing her in such a strange way…was it possible that he knew something? Had Rose Ellen gone to
town this morning and spilled the beans about the mysterious Mr. Archibald? Emma had feared her sister would say too much and arouse the curiosity of the sheriff…but given the unexplained knife incident, she wasn’t certain that was such a bad thing.

And yet, she wasn’t certain that was the reason Barton Sealy was here, either. In fact, worry about an outlaw seemed to be the furthest thing from his open, sunny smile. “My, you certainly look lovely today, Miss Emma!”

Lovely?
Emma would have laughed if she hadn’t been so surprised. For a moment, it seemed that shock was the only thing keeping her upright. Her tight facial muscles went slack, and she tilted her head up toward the sheriff. The kitchen where she’d been working for the past two hours was practically as hot as the oven that had been fired up all afternoon, and she felt so sweaty she knew she was barely presentable. She was wearing nothing but an old work dress, an unflattering check in a faded brown. Her hair, never her best feature, was bursting free of its combs and was corkscrewing around her face.

“Would you like something to drink, Sheriff?” she asked when she found her voice again.

“Please call me Barton, Emma.”

“All right…Barton.” She fought to suppress a blush. “Would you care for something to drink?”

He grinned from ear to ear. “Do you have any lemonade?”

“Well…no, I’m afraid not.”

If he was disappointed by her domestic inadequacy, he tried not to show it. “Oh, well then, whatever you do have.”

She scurried back to the kitchen and fetched the man a glass of water. When she came back out to give it to him, he was already settled on the settee in the parlor, inspecting
the glum, formal room with intense interest. Emma was struck again by how impressive he seemed—one of those men who looked at the world about him as if it were his own personal property.

He took the water and leaned back, grinning at her again. Not knowing what else to do, Emma sank onto a chair opposite him and stared expectantly at her surprise guest. She kept expecting him to ask for Rose Ellen.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” His eyes almost twinkled.

“No, I was just finishing supper.”

His smile widened. “Really?”

The man wanted to cadge a meal, that much was clear.

Unfortunately, supper was going to be a sad affair tonight—beans, no meat, burned bread, leftover pie. She swallowed anxiously. She couldn’t turn the sheriff away from her table—that would be unneighborly. “Would you like to have supper with us?” Her voice lacked enthusiasm.

“Would I!” he repeated, laughing as if she’d just made a joke. “Why, Miss Emma, those are words to warm a poor bachelor’s heart.”

Her lips lifted in a sort of smile, but her mind raced at the quandary she was in. How was she going to finish the meal if she was stuck entertaining the guest? “I suppose you’d like to talk to Rose Ellen.”

“Rose Ellen?” From Barton’s tone, you would have thought he didn’t know a woman by that name.

Emma frowned. “Didn’t you see my sister in town?”

“Oh, of course,” he replied. “I just didn’t know whether she would be home by now.”

“She’s been home for hours. I believe she has a little headache, however.”

He frowned dramatically. “Now, isn’t that too, too bad!”

Despite his exaggerated tone, Emma got the notion that the man didn’t care how Rose Ellen was feeling at all. She shifted in her seat, a little stunned by his attitude, and unsure what to do next. Maybe now would be the right time to bring up the subject of Lang Tupper…but the way the sheriff was still sitting there grinning at her made her rethink that plan.

All his attention to her was very suspicious. What was he doing here? Why had he called her lovely? After all, during his last visit he’d told her she was no spring chicken!

Maybe he was here in his official capacity, and he was just building up to asking about Lang. Emma opened her mouth to tell him about her outlaw quandary, but then the sheriff looked over at her and winked.
Winked!

Emma was unnerved. What was the sheriff doing? Her desire to talk to him about Lang evaporated. Revealing a desperado’s presence in her home wouldn’t exactly show her own decision-making in the best light.

And after all, she hadn’t seen Lang with the knife. She had only Annalise’s word to go on, and though she loved her niece, there was no denying that Rose Ellen had prejudiced her daughter against the guests in the house. The knife story might not be true at all. Or if it was, there was no telling what Lang had been using it for. Now that she thought about it, the whole incident could be perfectly innocent.

Besides, the man sat sipping his water as if he had all the time in the world, and didn’t appear particularly inclined to catch an outlaw. Maybe she shouldn’t be in such a hurry to turn one in.