Captive Heart (20 page)

Chapter 31

Emma lowered the curling tongs with one hand and picked up the oval mirror with her other. She sighed as she studied her reflection. The ringlets framing her face did little to lighten her mood. She’d taken more pains getting ready tonight than she had for the fanciest ball back home. And why? All in the hope that Thayne might so much as glance her way before she left.

Realizing there were only a few minutes more until Mr. Grady came for her, Emmalyne gathered her things from the kitchen table and put them in the basket to go upstairs. She tied an apron over her dress and went to the stove. She stirred the stew, sliced and buttered the bread, then went to the cupboard to get the plates.

Two apple pies—one to take and one to leave home—sat cooling beside the stack of dishes, and Emmalyne wondered again if she should have made only one. Surely Thayne would have minded missing out on her pie.
And it would serve him right for sending me off with Orville Grady.
But likely Thayne wouldn’t have missed her pie enough to change his mind or at least come to the dance himself. And Joshua liked her pie too. She saw no point in punishing him because his father didn’t care for her as she cared for him.

Emma set one place at the table and put Joshua’s tin beside it. She’d hoped seeing her place empty would bother Thayne, but she was dismayed to find it was her heart that felt heavy as she looked at the table. Turning around quickly, she untied her apron and was hanging it on the peg when Thayne walked in.

Barely trusting herself to speak, she didn’t look at him. “Supper’s on the stove, and I’ll leave a pie for your dessert. If you’ll read to Joshua and give him my good night kiss . . .”

Outside she heard the unmistakable sound of a wagon and team. Grabbing her cloak, she took a pie from the shelf and hurried past Thayne.

“Good night,” she called and walked out the front door.

Thayne shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out the kitchen window, watching as Orville helped her up to the wagon seat. He climbed in beside her, sitting closer than he should have, Thayne thought, scowling. A second later, a corner of his mouth lifted as he watched Emma scoot away.

Wisely, Grady didn’t move any closer. After talking with Grady in the barn the other day, Thayne had no real worries about Emma’s safety. After all, Orville was a member of the Citizens for Law in the Hills committee. The dance was being held just over in the next valley, and the folk who were going to be there were more recent settlers—homesteaders like himself, looking for places to raise their families. Grady was strong enough to protect her from any miner who came looking for a skirt.

When the wagon was out of sight, Thayne left the window and went to the stove. He lifted the lid on the pot and inhaled. The stew smelled delicious, but he wasn’t hungry. He turned to Joshua, busy smashing crackers and potatoes on his tray.

Thayne walked over, ruffling his son’s hair. “Not hungry, either?” He lifted Joshua from the chair. “How ’bout we play blocks, then I’ll give you that story and kiss from your mo—” He caught himself. “Emma promised.”

Less than a half hour later, Thayne heard the sound of wagon wheels crunching over leaves outside. Scooping up Joshua, Thayne hurried to the front door, concerned something terrible had happened to have Emma home so early. He felt both relief and disappointment when he opened the door and saw it was Marcus helping Pearl down from their wagon.

Thayne raised a hand in greeting as his friends made their way to the porch.

“You were right, Pearl,” Marcus said by way of greeting as he walked past Thayne into the house.

“Right about what?” Thayne asked as he handed Joshua into Pearl’s outstretched hands.

“’Bout you not hearing of the barn raising and dance,” Pearl said. She headed straight for one of the wingback chairs and settled into it, a squirming Joshua in her lap. “We got word of it clear up our way, but you’re so far off the beaten path . . .”

“We heard,” Thayne said. He sat next to Marcus on the settee. “Emma’s there right now.”

“What?” both Pearl and Marcus asked at the same time, their mouths hung open in astonishment, with a disapproving glint in Pearl’s eye.

Thayne shrugged. “Orville Grady asked her to go with him. She took a pie,” he added lamely.

Pearl and Marcus exchanged a glance. Sensing one of Marcus’s lectures coming his way, Thayne stood up. “She left one here too. I’ll get us all a piece.” He practically ran into the kitchen.

Thayne took the pie from the shelf and set it on the table. The lattice-trimmed top was a perfect golden brown, and his mouth watered in anticipation. He looked up to find they’d followed him.

“Let me get this straight,” Pearl said. “Your gal is at the dance with some other man?”

“She’s not
my
gal,” Thayne said. “We all know that.”

“Nuh uh,” Pearl said, wagging a finger at him as Joshua watched, seemingly entranced by her animated movements. “Emma don’t know she isn’t your gal. She
wants
to be and don’t know why you won’t let her.”

“She knows what she needs to,” Thayne grumbled. He cut the pie and set out two plates beside the one Emma had already put at his place. “You want some supper too?” he asked, looking at Marcus. “She left some stew and bread.”

“Pie’ll be fine,” Marcus said, sitting at the table and reaching for a plate.

Pearl set Joshua in his chair and went over to the stove. She lifted the lid, peeking at the simmering mixture. “Mmm. Smells good. My, that girl learns fast.”

“She’s not a girl; she’s a woman, and she’s here to help Joshua.
Nothing
more.” Thayne sat at the table, picked up a fork, and took a bite just as Marcus began to gag.

Instantly, Thayne understood why. A briney taste burned his tongue, and he bent over the plate, spitting chunks of apple out of his mouth.

“Whatever is wrong with you two?” Pearl demanded.

“Water,” Thayne choked out, pointing to the pitcher at the far end of the table.

Pearl picked up the pitcher and poured water into the cup Emma had set out earlier. Thayne pushed the cup toward Marcus, then lifted the pitcher and drank straight from it.

Joshua squealed and clapped his hands.

Marcus continued to gulp down his water.

Thayne rose from the table, took the plates of pie, and dumped them back into the tin.

“Land sakes.
What
is wrong?” Pearl marched toward Thayne, pulled the tin from his grasp, and stuck her finger in the pie. Putting the finger in her mouth, her lips puckered in surprise. She let out an indelicate snort that quickly turned to full-on laughter.

“Salt!” she hooted. “Clever girl used salt instead of sugar.” Pearl’s mirth increased, and she pulled out a chair and sat down, slapping the table.

“Clever?”
Thayne asked. “There’s nothing clever about it, and I’m sure it was a mistake.”

Pearl only laughed louder, shaking her head as Marcus reached for the pitcher and poured himself another glass of water.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Thayne grumbled. “Wasted the apples, the flour, salt. And she’ll be mortified when she realizes what she’s done. Have you forgotten she brought a pie to the dance?”

Pearl’s mouth snapped shut. She pulled a hankie from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.

“Apple, like this one?”

Thayne nodded.

“Oh my,” Pearl said. Elbows on the table, she leaned forward, her face serious now. “You realize what this means.”

Thayne shook his head. “I don’t see how it means anything, other than Emma made a mistake.”

“That’s a possibility,” Pearl said. “But it ain’t the only one. Emma may have made a good pie and left the bad one for you, or she could have made a mistake and made them both with salt quite by accident.” A sly look crossed Pearl’s face. “Of course, she could also have done it on purpose.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Thayne said. He reached for the pie, intending to take it outside and dump it.

Pearl slapped his hand away. “Not ridiculous at all if she meant to get your attention.”

“How so, Pearl?” Marcus asked. He’d finally stopped gulping water, but his voice was hoarse.

She looked at her husband. “Well, if Emma’s upset with Thayne for not taking her to the dance, salt in his pie might’ve been how she vented her anger.”

“Why should she be angr—”

“Or,”
Pearl continued, interrupting Thayne. “She mighta put salt in both pies, hoping to lure Thayne to the dance.”

“Your wife’s gone daft, Marcus,” Thayne said. “How would salt in a pie get me to go anywhere?”

“Did Emma mention anything about the pie before she left?” Pearl demanded.

Thayne nodded. “Yes, but she also mentioned supper.”

“I’m not touching that stew,” Marcus said.

Pearl shot him a stern look. “But aren’t you concerned about the reaction when everyone tastes Emma’s pie?” she asked Thayne.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted uncomfortably. “Well, of course,” he said. “I don’t want her to get her feelings hurt or be humiliated.”

Pearl nodded. “
Exactly
. Were that to happen, why, she might just up and leave these parts, which would leave you in a pickle again, now wouldn’t it?” Pearl nodded, answering her own question. “Which is why you’re gonna march in the other room right now and get ready for that dance. If you hurry, you just might spare your gal some embarrassment.”

“She’s not
my
gal,” Thayne reiterated. His proclamation fell on deaf ears.

“Pearl’s right,” Marcus said. “You’d best hurry. We’ll stay and watch Joshua. He’s better company than you anyway.”

Thayne ran his fingers through his hair as he looked from Marcus to Pearl then back to Marcus again. “I can’t go to that dance. Emma will be all right. She’s with Orville Grady. He’ll bring her home if anything happens.”

“And on the way, he’ll put his arm around her and pull her real close so she can cry out her humiliation on his shoulder,” Pearl said, painting a picture Thayne didn’t care for.

“Emma doesn’t cry easy,” he said. “A little thing like a bad pie isn’t going to upset her that much.”

“You sure?” Pearl asked.

Marcus looked skeptical too. “You never can tell with women, Thayne. They seem tough on the outside, but underneath they’re soft and sensitive when you least expect it.”

I find that hard to believe if you’re talking about your wife, Marcus.
“You know why I can’t go,” Thayne said.

“Didn’t say you had to dance with her or anyone else.” Marcus leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “Emma doesn’t even have to know you’re there. Just get the pie and leave.”

Get the pie and leave.
Thayne stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe.” If there were a way he could spare Emma the humiliation of bringing a terrible pie and also spare them both the awkwardness of dancing together . . .

“All right, I’ll do it.”

He left the kitchen and went to his dresser in the parlor. Removing a clean shirt from the top drawer, he looked in the glass, wondering if he needed to shave since he was only going to retrieve a pie.

Back in the kitchen, Marcus and Pearl exchanged silent, victorious looks as they listened to water being poured in the basin.

“Good thing we got to the Harveys’ early and heard Orville Grady boasting about bringing the prettiest gal in the Hills,” Pearl whispered.

Joshua banged his spoon on his tray like a judge slamming his gavel in agreement.

Marcus nodded. “Good thing, all right.”

Chapter 32

The sounds of fiddles playing and feet stomping reached Thayne as he pulled into the Harveys’ yard. He parked the wagon close to the cabin and didn’t bother with unhitching the team, as he planned to stay only long enough to retrieve Emma’s pie.

Across a small field, he could barely make out the new barn rising up in the dark, and he felt a moment’s guilt that he hadn’t come to help with the building. Under normal circumstances, he’d have been more than happy to lend both his time and tools, but the worry of the dance afterward had kept him far away.

Until now.

Thayne climbed the porch steps and walked quickly through the open door of the cabin. The long, narrow room was crowded, and a wall of men, their backs to him, kept the dancers hidden from view. A good thing, he thought, as he made his way toward the table laden with pies and cakes. It appeared the desserts were being saved for later in the evening.

It took him only a second to spot Emma’s lattice-top pie with the apple and leaf design on top. She’d done a fine job on the crust, if nothing else. Standing by the table, Thayne tried to look as nonchalant as possible as he stuck his finger in her pie, then pulled it out quickly and brought it to his mouth.

Salt.

Snatching the pie off the table, he held it close and, with his back to the crowd, made his way to the door. Once there, he strode across the porch, then out past the field and the new barn. Deciding he’d gone far enough, he flipped the tin upside down, beat on it a couple of times, and watched as the pie fell in chunks to the ground. Likely, a deer or some other animal would think the salted apples tasted just fine.

So she didn’t ruin mine in anger.
Thayne made his way back to the cabin, relieved to discover the whole thing really had been a mistake. He didn’t for one minute buy Marcus and Pearl’s notion that Emma had done such a thing on purpose to lure him to the dance.

Tossing the pie tin under a blanket in the wagon box, Thayne climbed up to the seat just as a shrill whistle came from the cabin, accompanied by several hoots and hollers. The hum of fiddles increased to a frenetic pace, and a bucket on the porch vibrated from the steady stomping.

Hands on the reins, Thayne hesitated. It all sounded innocent enough . . . but how many women were really in attendance? What if this was the start of the men getting out of hand? Telling himself he was just going to check to make certain Emma was safe, he jumped down from the seat and went back inside. Pushing his way through the wall of men, Thayne stopped, seeing immediately what held them so entranced.

He counted six women—all of them dancing, weaving in and out of the circle with the six men in the center of the room.

“Allemande left,” the caller shouted, and the dancers changed directions.

Thayne caught a glimpse of Emma’s face, flushed and smiling, as she was pulled forward by the man in front of her. Her yellow gown swept a wide arc on the floor, and Thayne noticed the matching ribbon in her hair. When she’d left this afternoon, the ribbon had been tied around a neat bun, and only a few curls were by the sides of her face. He’d thought she was pretty then, and he’d had to hold back telling her so. But now, with her hair hanging down her back, flying with the ribbon as she turned, he recognized what every other man in the room must have.

She was stunning.

He forced his gaze from Emma and took notice of the other women in the circle. One was Nathan Harvey’s wife. Another, who looked like she was about to give birth any minute, kept waving to a small child every time she went past. No doubt she was married too. That left only four eligible women to dance with. Thayne lifted his head, scanning the room, estimating the number of miners packed in the tight space. Four women to at least
eighteen
men. And three women—one with more than a couple of front teeth missing—who couldn’t hold a candle to Emma.

“Bow to your partner and do-si-do,” the caller yelled. The circle dissolved back into couples.

Thayne watched in astonishment as the men beside him swarmed forward, shoving each other out of the way to get to the dancers. Those who got there first tapped the men already dancing on the shoulder, and those men stepped back, making way for the new partners. Thayne noticed Orville Grady’s scowl when he succeeded in getting not Emma but the toothless woman next to her.

Returning his attention to Emma, Thayne noticed her smile vanish, replaced by a wince when the man dancing with her stepped on her foot. Looking at her feet peeking out from beneath her skirt as she swished past, Thayne realized that getting stepped on probably wasn’t her only problem. She’d worn her city shoes—as he called them—and after near two months of wearing moccasins, her feet had to be pinched.

Not two minutes passed before Thayne found himself jostled, an elbow to his arm and a shove from behind pushing him out of the way as more men crowded onto the dance floor. He noticed at least five men vying for a chance to take Emma’s hand. Again, Orville was unsuccessful, and he slunk back to the side, a pathetic look on his face.

Thayne felt much the same, and he decided that since he was already here, he might as well see if Emma felt all right and find out if she wanted to stay or leave this melee behind.

When the couples fanned out in two rows, he rushed forward with the next wave of men. Determined, he moved quickly, snatching Emma’s hand as he tapped her partner on the shoulder. The man moved back, and Thayne took his place as she rose from her curtsey.

“Thayne! You came.” Her smile was back, bigger than it had been before. His heart seemed to miss a beat, and Thayne knew he’d made a grave mistake. This was exactly what he’d wanted—
needed
—to avoid. But it was too late now. He took her other hand and swung her around.

“Ya doin’ all right, Brownie?”

She laughed and nodded. “Let me guess. I
look
brown because I’m so hot from all this dancing. We haven’t stopped in over an hour. What I’d give for a drink of water and some fresh air.” She stepped forward, and Thayne wrapped his arm around her middle, his other hand high in the air as they turned again.

“Let’s do it, then,” he said. “Come on. I’ll—”

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and took Emma from him in the same movement. It was Orville. Apparently he—and several other men—had taken the cue from Thayne, because they were now all “tapping and taking” a little too early in the song. The competition was fierce.

Emma looked over her shoulder at him and shrugged as Orville whisked her away. Thayne held up his index finger, indicating he’d be back in a minute. Wending his way through the crowd, he returned to the table and found a bucket of water and a cup. When he’d filled it, he held it high above his head and made his way through the throng once more. On his way back to Emma, he stopped near the musicians.

“You got some women ready to pass out,” he warned them. “You might want to slow it down a bit.”

One of the men nodded. “Will do. This piece is almost over.”

“Thanks,” Thayne said. He walked closer, planning the best strategy to reach Emma again. Good as their word, the fiddlers hit a grandiose finale then cut off abruptly. An uproar—from all but the women—immediately followed. Thayne pushed forward, touching Emma’s arm just as a waltz was announced.

He handed her the cup of water, and Orville glared at him, none too happy to have lost his partner.

Ignoring him, Thayne steered Emma away from the other dancers so she could rest a minute and take a drink.

“Thank you.” She brought the cup to her mouth, drinking until every last drop was gone. Afterward, she licked her lips, reminding him of their first day on the trail. Thayne suddenly wished he could have those days back again, when it had just been the two of them and their situation hadn’t become so complicated.

Another man ventured near, and Thayne warned him off. “She’s resting.”

“Once again, you swoop in and save me.” Emma laughed and shook her head. “And I’d thought those days were over.”

Never,
Thayne wanted to say.
I’ll always be around to watch over you.
Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “No problem.”

“So why
are
you here?” she asked. Her forehead wrinkled with concern, and she raised up on tiptoe, looking around the room. “And where is Joshua?”

“At home with Pearl and Marcus,” Thayne said. “It was their idea I come. Practically shoved me out the door.”

“Oh.” She seemed disappointed. “Shall we at least dance, then? You did come all this way.”

Thayne shrugged. “You really want to? I thought you were tired.”

“I’m tired of spinning and turning and getting my arms pulled out of their sockets.” She looked away as if suddenly shy. “But a nice slow dance with you sounds heavenly.”

A very
bad
idea.
“Then step right this way for a piece of heaven.” He placed his hand at her back, leading her toward the door instead of the center of the room. From the corner of his eye, he saw another man approaching them. Emma saw him too.

She leaned across Thayne and, just as the man was about to tap Thayne’s shoulder, placed her empty cup in his outstretched hand. Smiling sweetly she said, “Would you mind terribly holding this for me, Mr. Roberts?”

“I, uh—’course not, Miss Madsen.” He tipped his hat.

Thayne nodded as they walked past. He led her behind the musicians and somehow avoided any other demands for her attention.

Emmalyne paused at the dessert table. “Those look so good. And I’m starving.”

“Let’s dance first,” Thayne suggested. “Or we might not get the opportunity. Then I’ll fend off your would-be suitors while you eat.”

“They aren’t suitors.” She was frowning at him. “Just lonely miners looking for an evening of fun and companionship.”

“
That’s
what I’m afraid of.” Thayne led her out the door.

“I don’t see my pie,” Emma said, looking over her shoulder.

“Maybe it has already been eaten,” he suggested.
A
real possibility, considering the critters that live out in these parts.

“Did you get any of the one I left at home?”

“Yep. Had myself a piece. You bake a right fine pie.”
Usually, that is.
“I imagine by the time we’re back Marcus and Pearl will have taken care of the rest of it.”
And with a little luck, they’ll keep their mouths shut about the whole salt incident.
He led her to the far end of the porch—away from any men who might be lingering by the doorway but close enough they could still hear the violins.

Facing Emma, Thayne lifted her hand, kissing the top of her knuckles lightly as his eyes met hers.
You’re in it already. Might as well enjoy.
He pressed her palm to his, his large fingers closing over her slender ones. A
perfect fit. Everything about this woman is a perfect fit for me.

Her other hand rested lightly on his shoulder. He touched her waist, pulling her closer than he should have. She didn’t resist.

“Porch is narrow,” he offered by way of an excuse.

She nodded. He watched her swallow and recognized it as a sign she was nervous. It was one of a dozen little habits of hers he found endearing.

He hadn’t danced in forever, but the steps came back easily. There would be no stepping on toes so long as he was her partner.

She noticed, sighing in contentment after a few turns around the porch. “For a cowboy, you dance very fine. Am I to suppose you practice all those hours you’re out in the barn or in the hills rounding up cattle?”

“Now that would be a funny thing.” He grinned. “Actually, my mother taught me. It’s in my—”

“Blood,” Emma finished with a smile that matched his. “I’ve decided if more people had Scottish ancestry, the world would be a much better place. The Scots have great intuition, miraculous healing powers, compassionate hearts,
and
great dancing skills.”

“Aye, lass. I believe you’ve the truth of it,” Thayne said in an exaggerated brogue, silently pleased by her assessment. He steered them too close to the railing and took the opportunity to pull her closer.

Emma’s hand crept farther up his shoulder, perilously close to the back of his neck. She tilted her head back, looking up at him, her brown eyes shining in the lantern light. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating, or was that hers?
It ought to be yours . . . together.
He was getting lost in those eyes. Suddenly, he wasn’t so certain of his ability to stay off her toes or away from her lips or—

“Hey! You can’t keep her all to yourself.” An insistent finger jabbed him in the shoulder.

Thayne turned around to find a man he didn’t know glaring at him.

“Dance is inside, mister,” the man said, jerking his head toward the doorway. “And it’s my turn now. I get her next.”

“We’ve been interrupted twice already,” Thayne said, holding his temper in check. He stepped in front of Emma, gently pushing her behind him. “The lady was overheated and asked for a few minutes of fresh air. She’ll go back inside shortly.”

“Then I’ll dance with her out here,” the man said. “Rules is rules, and when you get tapped, you gotta give up your turn.”

“The lady—” Thayne began.

“It’s all right, Thayne.” Behind him, Emma squeezed his fingers. “We can go back inside now.” She tucked her arm through his and started forward.

The disgruntled prospector stared at them a second then preceded them to the door. Just inside the cabin he paused, watching them enter.

To make certain we do,
Thayne thought, his irritation growing. As they walked past, the man looked at Emma and muttered under his breath.

“I can
see
she’s overheated.”

Thayne pulled his arm free from Emma’s, turned abruptly, and landed a punch square on the man’s jaw. He staggered backward into the dessert table, knocking a layered cake off onto the lap of another miner.

“What—who?” The man with the cake in his lap stood and caught two others laughing at him across the table. He picked up a pumpkin pie in one hand and a tart in the other and sent both sailing toward them. Both missed their targets and hit a third man standing behind.