Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (29 page)

His chuckle was dry and cynical sounding. "Well, I'll be,
you are in love with him."

A bitter taste welled up in her throat so that she had the
uncanny urge to spit-and make her target that yellow custard pimple on his chin. Instead, she threw back her shoulders and forced a smile. "Good day." She turned and started
walking.

"Am I still invited for supper?" he had the gall to ask.

She paused. "Of course. But may I remind you the meals
are a dollar a day, and I have yet to receive one dime from you.
I'll expect payment by the end of the week."

"You'll have it, my dear Emma." His undiluted laughter
mingled with the click of her heels as she made her way back
to the boardinghouse.

In love with the preacher? The very idea!

"Easy does it," Rocky said, helping Jon out of his prison.
"He's burnin' up, all right. Dehydration does this?"

"Fever's just a sign that somethin's not right in the body.
Could be coming from any number of things. More'n likely, lie's
caught a germ-or infection's set in front that head wound,"
Doc Randolph said, doing a quick perusal of Jon's vitals, sticking a stethoscope to his chest, pulling up his eyelids, feeling his
forehead, and examining the wound, which made Jon flinch.
Didn't lie know the blasted thing still hurt?

"If you'll just get nie back-to my own bed. Need a couple
of days and-I'll be fine."

The men gathering around him, of which there looked to
be a couple of dozen or more, chuckled under their breaths,
and Jon could swear some were shaking their heads at him as
if lie were missing a few screws.

"You'll need more than a couple of days, son," said
Doc, hunkered down next to him. "You've been through an
ordeal."

Jon tried to focus on all the faces, but the only ones he
could make out for sure were those of Doc, Rocky, and Ben.
The others were a blur. He couldn't even muster up the strength
to argue.

"W-w-we sure are glad we f-found you."

Okay, so he'd run out of steam for talking, but the familiar
voice of Luke Newman did put a smile on his face.

He woke up sometime later, the quiet patter of footsteps in
the other room persuading him to open his eyes and examine
his surroundings. It was a small space they'd put him in, just
big enough to accommodate the hard cot he was on, a small
chest of drawers, and a wooden rocker with a colorful quilt
thrown over it. Shoot, it wasn't much bigger than that miserable cave. On the wall to his left hung a framed painting, a
print of a scenic countryside with a river running through
it. It took him a moment to catch his bearings, but when he
did, he recognized the room as the one just off the boardinghouse parlor. Why had they put him here? He preferred
his own room with all his books, his desk and swivel chair.
How was he supposed to prepare for Sunday's sermon if he
couldn't get at his books? And his Bible. He needed his Bible.
Disgruntled, he recalled having left it in his saddlebags. Had
anyone thought to check them when they'd brought Jupiter
back to the livery? It took a bit of effort, but he tossed off
the cotton blanket and pushed himself up, fully intending to
mount the stairs to his room, but quickly surmising he barely
had the strength to sit, let alone stand. Instead, he sat there
gathering his wits.

On the tiny table beside the bed was a tall glass of water,
half of it gone. The vague remembrance that someone had
been pouring water down his throat swam to the surface. And
someone had bathed him, too, he recalled, glancing at the
basin of soapy water on the floor. Doc and-Emma? Gingerly,
lie touched the bump on his head, noting the diminished size.
Still, lie felt weaker than a kitten.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Emma stood in the doorway, all business, hands propped
on her narrow hips, a blond eyebrow quirked in question.

His skin felt dry and parched. "Going to my own room,
the one I pay rent on," he answered, sorry for his curtness.
Being a burden did not set well with him, and maybe Enima's
shoulders having to take the brunt of it was what irked him
the most.

"Not today you're not," she replied in just as curt a manner,
stepping inside the room. Her hair, pulled back at the sides
with two combs, hung down her back like a cascading fountain, and her yellow cotton dress, cinched at the waist, showed
her curves in a pleasing way. He might be sick, but he sure
wasn't blind.

"Doc says you're in no shape for climbing stairs. You got a
high fever, brought on by a germ or infection from that bump
you took on the head. Either way, Doc says what you need now
is plenty of fluids and rest. Matter o' fact, he told me when you
wake up you're to take some more water along with another
dose of medicine."

He studied her face, wondering if she hid a smile behind
that full mouth, but he was more likely to find gold in Little
Hickman Creek than that.

She stepped up to him and pressed a cool hand to his forehead. "Fever's hangin' on," she announced.

Without forethought, he reached up and snagged hold of
her wrist. She gave a quick intake of breath and paled. It was
anybody's guess why he'd done it. He couldn't have her, not
as long as she didn't profess to know the Lord. Yet having her
near him brought a sense of comfort. He rested his gaze on her
moist lips and wondered what it might be like to kiss them.

Lord, forgive me, but even in my sorry state, this woman tempts
me.

Wait on the Loin: be of good courage, and he shall
strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.

He'd run across the passage from Psalms a hundred tines
before, but this time it seemed to hit him square between the
eyes. Did God have something up His sleeve, something to
which he wasn't yet privy?

He relaxed his hold on her wrist and took up massaging the underside of it with the pad of his thumb, noting how
she didn't pull away. Instead, she stood stiff as a starched pair
of pants and started staring at something over the top of his
head.

Seconds passed before he broke the silence between them.
"If Doc's assigned you to be my nurse, I should warn you it
might take me awhile to recover."

Suddenly, she pulled her hand from his grasp and blinked
at him. Turning toward the little bedside stand, she picked
up the glass of water and stuck it under his chin, her mouth
pursed in a straight line. "Drink," she ordered. "Your medicine's in the kitchen. I best go get it."

He grinned and wrapped two shaky hands around the
glass. "Hurry back."

Later, he woke to the sound of knocking at the front
door. Still groggy from another bout of fitful sleep, he
rolled himself over and watched Emma tiptoe past on her
way to the door. The old grandfather clock's constant ticktock seemed to parrot her footsteps. The rest of the house
remained quiet. Had she shooed the bunch out or warned
them against making too much noise? He hated the notion
that he'd caused an inconvenience. He might be dog tired
and feverish, but he wasn't an invalid and didn't need special
treatment. He looked at the clock on the chest of drawers,
straining his eyes before it came into focus. Near as he could tell it was 8:10, and by the dusky shadows outside the window,
he figured it to be p.m.

He heard the screen door open and a gruff voice ask,
"That preacher kid okay?"

"He's resting," came the terse reply.

The shock at hearing Ezra Browning's voice lent his body
instant fortitude. "Who's there?" he asked, as if he didn't know,
raising himself up on his elbows.

Emma appeared in the doorway. "My father's askin' about
you.

He couldn't help the grin. "You don't say. Well, does lie
want to pay the preacher a visit?"

An inkling of a smile showed up at the corners of her
mouth. Her azure eyes twinkled, then just as quickly turned
steely. "You're not much up for visitors."

"How do you know? I haven't had any yet."

"That's 'cause you've slept through every one of them," she
replied. "People been stoppin' in all day long."

He leaned back a smidgeon and grinned. "Well, I'll be.
Why didn't you wake nie?"

"I did. And you been friendly as can be-for a span of
about three seconds per visit, long enough to drink a swig of
water and smile a greetin'. Then, just like that, you're out," she
said with a snap of her fingers.

"No kidding. How conic I don't remember?"

She shrugged. "Doc did say that medicine lie's givin' you
night make you a trifle dopey, but you're meant to rest."

It made him wonder what exactly Doc was administering. He
dropped back to his pillow, exhausted. "Well, that's a comfort.
Send your pa in, will you? I'm feelin' like I night like a chat."

"A chat? With Ezra Browning?" she mumbled under her
breath.

He squirmed on the bed. "A chat and maybe a little assistance."

A dazed look swept over her as she crossed her arms.
"Assistance with what?"

He lifted one eyebrow a fraction. "You know all that water
you been forcing down my throat? Well, it's created a need in
me.

Her mouth formed a circle as instant understanding
dawned. "Oh. Well, there's a-a-under the-I'll show you."
She stepped inside and quickly hunkered next to his bed, pulling out a white bucket with a lid on it. "This."

Had he had the strength, he might have laughed, but as it
was, lie could barely offer up a pathetic smile. "How about you
send Ezra in here?"

"I'm afraid he's not in the best shape for helping you. Surprisingly, he's not drunk, but he don't look good, either," she
whispered. "I could go get Mr. Newman. He and Luke retired
early, but I'm sure they're awake. Wes is ailin' tonight, so he
went to bed already. The rest are out and about."

"I'll manage on my own then. I-"

"Hey, preacher kid."

Emma was right. Ezra looked spent, his face the color
of gray paste. Suddenly he recalled the urgent message he'd
received in the cave-be Jesus to Ezra-and his promise to do
all he could if he came out of there alive.

"Hey, yourself. Come on in here. In fact, I need you for a
leaning post."

"Huh?" The man took a shaky step forward. Emma's
face went red as she turned on her heel and bolted out of the
room.

A few minutes later, sweating bullets, Jon dropped back
down on the hard mattress while Ezra plunked the lid on the white contraption and pushed it over to the door. "Eninia, ya
wanna empty this?" he called through the house.

To say Jon felt mortified was much too mild aword. He rolled
his eyes and stared at the ceiling, wishing he could vanish.

"Ya liked to knock me over," Ezra said, falling into the
rocker in the corner. "Ya feel better now?"

Taking a second to think about it, he replied, "I'll grant
you one part of me does, but my head, that's another story.
Sort of feels like it's been trampled by an elephant."

Low and behold, Ezra cracked a smile, even let out a low,
raspy chuckle. "Well now, that sounds familiar. I had nie a few
splittin' headaches in my day, all my own Join', o' course."

Jon allowed his head a minute to stop spinning. When
it did, Emma showed up in the doorway, picked up the pot
without a word, and disappeared again, her face still flushed,
her purposeful footsteps taking her to the back of the house
and out the door. He heard the screen bounce shut with a
clunk and thwack, and figured she was heading for the little
outhouse at the back of the property. It humiliated him to
think of her performing this menial chore for him. And if it
rattled him, what must it do to her? Or was she used to this
sort of thing, having lived under the same roof with a houseful
of untamed brutes for the better share of ten years?

Trying to put the matter out of his mind, he focused on
Ezra again, who'd taken to rocking lightly, his head propped
on the back of the rocker, arms folded across his wheezing
chest. It struck him then how pleased he was to see the fellow.
"Thanks for coming, Ezra. I'm glad to see you."

"Pfff. Don't go gettin' no big head about it now," he growled.
"I was in town anyways."

Jon swallowed. "You're not working tonight, are you?
Seems to me with that cough and all...." The poor man hardly looked able to leave his house, let alone work at that no-good
saloon.

Ezra nodded.

"Why don't you quit that rotten job?"

His face crumpled. "Been thinkin' on it, but I need the
money fer gettin' by."

"You mean for supporting your habit?"

"Naw, I been cuttin' back. Doc says I ain't Join' myself no
favors if I don't."

That bit of enlightenment had Jon slowly propping himself up on his elbows. Well, hallelujah! "You talked to Doc, did
you? What'd he say about that nasty cough?"

Ezra shrugged and turned his head toward the door. Was
lie looking for Emma? His mouth twisted downward, murky
eyes stared into space. "I ain't wantin' that girl o' mine to know
nothing 'bout it," lie muttered.