One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (9 page)

“He decided the agreement was legal and binding and that the moneylender was entitled to his pound of flesh.”

“I knew it, Millie. Didn't I tell you a promise made is a promise that's got to be kept?”

“Yes, you did, John.”

“But,” Emily hastily added before she was interrupted again, “it was also ruled that while the moneylender could take his pound of flesh, he couldn't take a single drop of blood.”

John rubbed his jaw while he mulled the judgment over in his mind. “Well now, I don't believe you can take any flesh without taking some blood.”

“It's a fact you can't,” Emily explained. “If the moneylender had been more specific,” she said with a meaningful glance at Travis, “the outcome might have been different, but he wasn't specific, and neither were you with our wager, Travis. I won fair and square.”

He admitted defeat, told her there were no hard feelings, and even suggested that she gloat if she felt like it.

“Want me to kiss you to prove I'm not mad?”

He realized he'd embarrassed her as soon as she lowered her gaze to the tabletop and shook her head at him. He reached over and put his hand on top of hers.

“You've got a lot in common with Portia,” he whispered. “But I don't think she blushed when she won her case. You have her passion though.”

Emily was pleased by the compliment. She wasn't given time to thank him, however, for a loud thumping sound interrupted all of them.

Someone was trying to break through the front door. John jumped up and ran to the entrance. Travis was right behind him.

“Are the men from Murphy's ranch here, Millie?” Emily asked.

“From the way they're banging on my door, I'd have to say it's them all right.” She hurried over to Emily's side and latched onto her elbow. “You can finish eating in the kitchen tonight. You'll feel much safer, and Travis will make sure the ranch hands stay in my dining room. I don't know how I'm going to get you up those stairs though, but I'll let John worry about that. Come on, girl. This isn't the time to dally. Lord, I sure hope they aren't all liquored up. There's nothing worse than a drunk,” she added with a shiver. “And if any of them steal my valuables, I swear I'll shoot them myself. Oh, I hope they aren't drunk.”

Millie really was frightened. Emily wasn't about to take any chances. She picked up her plate of stew, followed Millie into the kitchen, and then offered to help her get the ranch hands' plates ready.

“You sit on down at the table and eat. I'll see to the chore after I put some more biscuit dough into my oven. After you've finished, you can scrub my frying pan if you have a mind to. It's been soaking in the basin long enough.”

Emily was happy to have something to do. She quickly ate, then rolled up her sleeves and attacked the pan with a vengeance, smiling to herself as she tried to picture her mother's reaction if she were watching her daughter now. She would probably have heart palpitations, Emily supposed, for none of her daughters were ever allowed to do common housework—there were maids for that—but after she'd gotten over her initial shock, Emily didn't think she'd be disappointed in her.

“Millie, do you have anyone to help you with your chores?” she asked.

“No, but I'm getting used to the notion of hiring someone. My John's been nagging me to slow down, and lately our house has been packed with guests more often than not. After washing and cleaning and cooking and fetching all day long, by nightfall I'm so weary I can hardly get myself ready for bed.”

“Have you ever thought about moving to a town?”

“No, I'd never want to do that. Folks have to come through here to get north or west unless the season's dry and they can cut through the gullies, and even though we have lots of company, we're still isolated enough to feel free. I don't think I could abide having neighbors living right on top of me, knowing my business. John wouldn't like it either.”

Emily had lifted the heavy pan out of the soapy water and begun to dry it with the towel Millie handed her when she suddenly noticed the pounding had stopped. She also noticed Millie's hands were shaking.

“Do you think Murphy's men have left?”

“We aren't going to be that lucky. Their kind never gives up.”

“Exactly what is ‘their kind'?”

“Ignorant drunks who steal anything that will bring a dollar for more liquor and break everything else. Can't reason with a drunk, Emily, but don't fret about it. Your man won't let any harm come to you.”

“He won't let anyone hurt you either. He isn't my man though,” she said.

“You're wanting him to be, aren't you?”

Her bluntness made Emily smile. “Why would you think that? I'm on my way to marry another man,” she reminded her.

“Don't seem right to me,” Millie muttered. She shut the oven door and turned so Emily could see her frown. “You seem smart enough, girl. You'd best rid yourself of your pride and tell him what's inside your heart before it's too late.”

“But, Millie . . .”

“Won't do you any good to argue with me. There were sparks flying between you two, and anyone with half a brain would know what's going on. Ask him to court you.”

Emily shook her head. “Even if I did want Travis to court me, it wouldn't matter. He told me he isn't the marrying kind.”

Millie scoffed at the notion. “No man's the marrying kind until the ceremony's over. Don't you go believing that nonsense, girl. I saw how close he sat next to you at the table. Why, he had you squeezed up nice and tight against his side. I saw him take hold of your hand too, but I didn't see you pull away. You didn't mind one little bit, did you?”

Emily's shoulders sagged when she said, “No, I didn't mind. I don't know what's come over me. Mr. O'Toole's letters were very nice, and when he suggested—”

“Hogwash,” Millie muttered. “Are you going to ruin your life because of some letters?”

“It wasn't supposed to get complicated,” Emily said. “I made up my mind to take charge of my destiny, and now I think that maybe Travis was right. He told me it was my pride being wounded that made me act so rashly. Millie, I don't know what to do. I like Travis, but I'm certainly not in love with him. Why, I've only known the man for a couple of days, and we've spent most of our time together arguing about this and that.”

“Love can happen quick,” Millie told her. “I took one look at my man, and I knew I was going to nab him.”

Emily didn't want to “nab” anyone. The conversation was making her agitated, for Millie was forcing her to think about things she would rather ignore. Emily wanted to convince herself that she was simply getting cold feet again, but she quickly recognized the lie. Dear God, what was happening to her? She didn't know her own mind anymore.

“You're very fortunate to have found John,” she said. “How did you meet him?” She added the question in hopes of turning Millie's attention away from her conflicting feelings about Travis.

Millie was just about to answer her question when the back door flew open and slammed against the kitchen counter, causing both women to jump in reaction. Two of the scruffiest looking creatures Emily had ever seen came sauntering inside. Millie let out a very unladylike blasphemy that so surprised Emily she turned to look at her.

The creatures quickly recaptured her full attention, however.

“No one's keeping us out,” one of the men said. He let out a loud belch before he added, “Ain't that right, Carter?”

The other creature was too busy staring at Emily to answer his friend. “Look at what we got here, standing in front of the cabinet John hides his liquor in, Smiley.”

Emily was trying hard to blend into the wall. The men reeked of foul whiskey and were swaying on their feet as they gawked at her, and she knew it would only be a matter of minutes before they both passed out. She decided to humor them until then, or until Travis and John came into the kitchen and tossed them out.

She tucked the frying pan behind her while she stared back at them. She couldn't make up her mind which one was uglier. Smiley's teeth were so rotten they'd turned black in spots, which made his smile all the more repulsive. He drooled too.

Carter wasn't any prize either. His head appeared to be too big for his squat body, and there was a stench about him that was so horrid, Emily actually gagged.

Compared to these two, One-Eyed Jack was a ladies' man.

Millie's profanity hadn't made much of an impression on them. Neither one even bothered to glance her way.

“I'm wanting at that whiskey,” Smiley muttered.

“Me too,” Carter agreed. He licked his thick lips in anticipation, then made a smacking noise that Smiley found so comical he started chuckling, and if the raucous noise the two of them were making wasn't bad enough, watching the spittle from Smiley's mouth dribble down his chin was simply more than Emily could stomach.

Lord, they were vile.

Emily was simmering with anger. She wasn't going to let her temper get the upper hand though. Caution was prudent now, she decided. It would be foolhardy to provoke them, for even though she had never seen a drunken man up close, she had heard that they were all unpredictable, and Millie had just told her it wasn't possible to reason with a drunk.

She really wished she had a weapon close-by, then realized she was gripping one in her hand. The frying pan could do enough damage to send them running, and she wouldn't have the slightest qualm about using it if either one of them tried to steal so much as a speck of dust.

“Please leave. You're frightening Millie.”

“We ain't going nowhere until we're good and ready,” Carter muttered.

Smiley snorted agreement.

“I'm wanting at that liquor,” he whispered to Carter loud enough for both women to hear. “If I got to toss the woman out of my way, I will. No one comes between me and my whiskey.”

Carter vigorously nodded agreement. The movement must have made him dizzy, because he started swaying in a circle.

“I'm wanting the money tucked inside the cookie jar,” he told his cohort. His gaze searched the room before he added, “Millie went and hid it on us.”

“Guess we got to tear the place apart to find it then.”

Carter snickered. Millie straightened her shoulders but continued to give away her fear by twisting her apron. “You get on out of here, both of you, or I'll shout for John.”

Carter pulled his bowie knife from his waistband and waved it at her. The stupid man was so drunk Emily was amazed he could hold on to the weapon.

“You keep your trap shut, or this here knife is going in your belly,” he hissed.

Millie's complexion turned as white as the dishcloth. Seeing her fear fueled Emily's anger. How dare they come into this dear woman's home and threaten her?

Emily took a deep breath. Oh, what she would have given to have John's shotgun now. She'd shoot both of them for upsetting poor Millie. She wouldn't kill them though; she'd just make it painful for them to walk for a long time.

“Let's get the pretty little heifer out of our way,” Smiley suggested to his friend.

Emily blinked. In the space of Millie's loud indrawn breath, she went from anger to fury.

“What did you just call me?” she asked, her voice a strained whisper.

Her eyelid began to twitch while she waited for him to repeat the insult.

“A pretty little heifer,” Smiley told her.

She drew herself up to her full height and glared at the men. Caution be damned.

“Millie? I can't seem to make up my mind. Which one do you think is uglier? The one with the black teeth or the one with the fat head?”

Millie let out another gasp. Her eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of her face. “Are you trying to get them mad, girl?”

Smiley took a step toward Emily. “She's Travis Clayborne's woman,” Millie cried out. “If you touch her, he'll kill you.”

“We ain't got no quarrel with Clayborne,” Smiley muttered. “He won't know what happened until it's too late. He's busy with the others out front, and we'll be long gone with our whiskey and money before he comes inside. Ain't that right, Carter?”

“We can ride fast when we got to,” his friend boasted. “Go and push the little heifer clear into the dining room. I'll back you up.”

Millie started to slowly edge her way to the table, hoping she could duck underneath to protect herself from Carter's knife while she screamed for her husband. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Emily wasn't trying to back away from the man stalking her.

“Run,” Millie cried out.

Emily shook her head. “Not until I help you take the garbage out.”

The remark made Smiley stop. He swayed on his feet, staggered backward, then turned to Carter. “Is she talking about us?”

“What's come over you?” Millie whispered.

“Anger. I don't appreciate being called a cow; I don't like being threatened, and I hate the way they're scaring you,” Emily answered. She kept her gaze on the drunks. “Millie has asked you to leave. Please do as she says.”

Smiley snorted. He put his arms out at his sides and tried to rush her. He was so drunk, he bounced against the counter twice and lost more distance than he'd gained.

“Get behind my back,” Millie shouted.

Emily was too busy at the moment to explain she wasn't about to do such a cowardly thing. Timing, after all, was everything. She nervously waited until Smiley was just about two feet away from her, then swung her arm in a wide arc and slammed the frying pan up against the side of his head.

Spittle went flying every which way as Smiley staggered backward, screeching like a wounded rooster, before he finally collapsed in a heap on the floor.