Liz Ireland (15 page)

Slowly the look of dull shock left her and she began to nod her head. Silently he rooted for her.
You can do this, Emma
. “And since your household is growing, you’ll need to expand your kitchen garden. You need more chickens in the henhouse and maybe another milk cow. I guess you’ve already thought about that, though.”

“No, I hadn’t,” she admitted. “But of course it makes sense.”

Lang smiled. “And on top of all this, I think I should tell you that Davy sneaked outside today while you were away.”

“That rascal! I told him he couldn’t go out for another two days.”

“I didn’t see him till he was already outside, or I would have tried to bring him back earlier.”

“Thank you.” Her brows knit together worriedly.

They discussed places Lang had seen where the fences absolutely needed repair, then turned back toward the house. Lang faced his upstairs exile with mixed emotions. He was jumpy just being out in the open like this. Anybody could just ride up. And yet, even taking the chance of discovery, he’d enjoyed his morning out of doors—feeling the cool spring breeze on his face, smelling the fresh air. He was lucky that he wasn’t spending this day in a jail cell. He had Emma to thank for that, and for so much more. She’d saved his life; she didn’t know it, but she was saving his life even now, just letting him be a part of her plans, and be a small part of the kind of work he loved.

He glanced at her, remembering their kiss. Neither had mentioned it, but the memory of it was there, alive and pulsing between them. Sometimes he thought he could tell when she was thinking of the kiss—when her eyes shone particularly bright, or when high color appeared in her cheeks when they were discussing, say, seed grade. There were moments when he wanted to pull her into his arms again and bury himself in the fresh softness of her. She was so beautiful, and kind, and warm.

And then his gaze would be drawn to the imposing brick house, and the acres of fields around it, and he would realize that Emma was more than the lonely woman whose house he had found by accident; she was only just beginning to realize how much she had, and the difference she could make.

She had that glow about her again now as she looked out on her fields, that look as if she were an upstart monarch
about to seize the reins of power. “Everything feels different now!”

He tried without success to look away from her enjoying the simple sensation of the breeze on her face. “How so?”

“Now that we’ve got a hand to help us, I think things will move more quickly. True, he probably won’t be the best worker in the county, but who knows how he might turn out with your help? Just wait and see, Lang, in a few months we’ll have turned this idea of yours into a reality!”

“I wish I could see it.” The bare rasp of regret sneaked into his voice.

She looked at him, and that stubborn curtain had draped over her eyes again. “What do you mean?”

He couldn’t look at her. “I’ll be gone.”

“Not necessarily,” she countered. “You could stay here….”

Lang shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

She turned on him in a swirl of skirts and dogged impatience. “When were you planning on leaving?”

“As soon as I can ride. It shouldn’t be long now.”

She stopped in her tracks, her face red. “But you can’t leave so soon. We’re just getting started. We haven’t even put a plow to sod!”

“There is no ‘we,’ Emma.”

She stared at him as if he were suddenly speaking Chinese to her. “But I thought you cared—” her cheeks flamed “—about what happened here.”

“I do, but if I stayed, it would be suicide. And worse than that, it would bring you trouble. If I got caught here—”

“But you won’t!”

He tried to remain reasonable, though his chest squeezed with longing. “Do you think the sheriff is going to believe
that I stayed in your house for weeks on end and you didn’t know who I was?”

“But why should I?” Her voice grew more fervent. “I go into town maybe once a week, and the talk about you has died down.”

“There are people in Midday who saw those Wanted posters.”

“I got rid of those pictures. Anyway, you look different from your brother. You…”

He squinted at her, mimicking Amos, and as she took in his dark brow and cleft chin, her words dissolved in the wind.

“Maybe someone will remember that the posters disappeared the day you were in town,” he said, trying to bring home how precarious a position he’d placed her in. “And no matter what happens in Midday, there are probably posters in every little town from here to the border.”

“Then that’s all the more reason why you should stay put, right here!” she urged. “Once you leave, you’ll be running again. You won’t know who to trust, or where you can go.”

He couldn’t deny that scrap of logic. And God knows he didn’t want to leave, but it wasn’t as if he had a whole hell of a lot of choice in the matter. “I can’t put you in danger.”

“I’m not!” she insisted, with a quiet stubborn rage. “No one has mentioned the escaped outlaw.”

“They will.” That certainty was the thorny patch they’d never be able to get around.

“I understand,” she said bluntly, studying him. “You
want
to leave.”

He looked into her hurt, defensive green eyes and wished immediately that he could take her into his arms and kiss her until he’d driven the insane notion from her
mind.
Want
to leave? He’d as soon want to cut off his right arm. The minute he stepped off Colby property, he would be leaving the comfort of the best home he’d ever lived in and the company of a woman he cared for deeply. He would be leaving Emma, and right now he felt as if he’d be leaving half of himself behind with her.

He would have given anything if he could stay. But he couldn’t, though he obviously couldn’t let Emma think that he was sacrificing himself for her sake, either. Most of all, he couldn’t let her see the extent to which she now occupied his thoughts.

He cleared his throat and argued as forcibly as he could. “I can’t live the rest of my life hiding in an upstairs bedroom. I can’t spend the next forty years pretending to be Johann Archibald. Surely you can understand that. That’s not who I am. And I can’t live off a woman. I have some pride.”

She looked horrified. “But you’re earning your keep here—and then some! I should be paying you for all the good you’ve done me.”

“There’s still the matter of my living like a mole the rest of my life. I can’t go on that way.”

“But look at yourself,” she argued. “You’ve spent several hours outside, and no one is any the wiser.”

He chuckled. He wasn’t the only one who’d been looking over his shoulder today. “Since you came back and found me here, you’ve been nervous as a mouse. Every time a squirrel chucked, you jumped. A minute hasn’t gone by that you haven’t tossed a glance toward the Midday road to check for someone coming up it.”

“But—”

“Emma, even if all that didn’t matter, you just went to town and hired the
sheriff’s brother
. Ask yourself honestly how long we can carry on this farce.”

Suddenly it seemed as if all the wind was sucked out of her, and she had no more argument left in her. “I can see I can’t dissuade you,” she said, not even able to lift her chin in her usual proud way when she conceded an argument. “But where will you go?”

“I don’t know…maybe to California.” She glanced at him, horrified, as if he’d just told her he was about to step off a mountain. “I might be able to make a new start there.”

“But what about proving your innocence? You’ll always be looking over your shoulder in California, too.”

Not an hour went by that he didn’t think of that. “There’s a chance I would never be able to prove my innocence anyway, and might just get myself hanged for the effort. Who would believe me?”

“I did!”

“You’re not like everyone else, Emma.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “If people just heard your story…about how much you cared for your brother and tried to help him…they’d never believe that you would use him as your alibi.”

He shook his head, longing secretly to reach out and wipe the lone teardrop that had spilled down her rosy cheek. “I was betrayed by my own brother. How safe would it be to entrust my future to a group of strangers?”

“This is wrong, so wrong,” she muttered angrily. “It shouldn’t be this way.”

No, he thought. In a perfect world, he could walk up to Barton Sealy, explain what had happened and be exonerated. And then he would declare his love to Emma, who wouldn’t care that he was poor, jobless and homeless. She would take him in and they would live happily ever after—hospital, farm, everything.

Dear God, he thought. All his life he’d had his nose to
the grindstone. He’d never held out an impractical hope in his life—except for Lucy. And now, with gut-wrenching clarity, he knew why. Pie-in-the-sky dreams were agony.

Emma nudged the tear away from her cheek with her sleeve, then straightened suddenly. Lang expected to see reproach in those eyes, or heartbreak, or even a determined resolve. Instead, he saw terror.

She was staring at a point over his shoulder, and Lang wrenched around reflexively, swearing when he saw the man coming down the road at a fast walk. They’d been so absorbed in their argument about why he should leave, they’d forgotten to watch their backs.

His first instinct was to race toward the house as fast as his mending body could carry him. He turned, but Emma grabbed his arm with her hand, her grip surprisingly forceful.

“No,” she whispered, guessing his intention. “It would only make him wonder.”

Lang felt sick, especially when he saw Emma attempt to mask her fear. It was beginning. He was getting her in deeper and deeper and she didn’t even seem to care. “Who is it?”

“William.”

He looked at the tall youth making his way down the road and despaired for Emma’s future.
This
was the man who would plow her ten acres? A flea had more meat on its body than William Sealy did. Equally astonishing was the notion that this was the man who had ill-used Lorna and crushed her heart. He was hardly a man at all, and he didn’t have the countenance of a heartbreaker. As he came closer, William seemed like any open-faced country boy.

“I didn’t expect you till tomorrow,” Emma called out to him.

He approached Emma with an apologetic smile. “I sort
of…” He flicked a nervous glance at Lang, then rushed on, “Well, I couldn’t wait to see Lorna, and I realized I forgot to tell you something real important.”

Emma tilted her head, curious. “What?”

William licked his lips, combed a bony-fingered hand through his tousled blond hair and shot another glance at Lang. His eyes narrowed.

Lang froze, and for a second a flurry of panic volleyed between himself and Emma. The boy recognized him.

Or did he?

Emma stepped between them. “This is my boarder, Mr. Archibald. Johann, this is William Sealy.”

Lang shot his hand out. “Pleased to meet you, William.”

William grinned and pumped Lang’s hand. “Howdy.”

“Now, what was this important matter, William?” Emma asked, drawing the boy’s attention. “Are you worried I won’t pay you?”

Color appeared in the young man’s cheeks. “No, ma’am. It’s only that I’ll need…well, once I tell my brother, I might need someplace to live.”

“But don’t you live with your brother?” Emma asked.

His cheeks went scarlet. “Barton always told me that he would disown me if I…” He stared at the ground. “Well, he just doesn’t think much of…my doing field work.”

Emma studied his face, and so did Lang. It wasn’t just the work Barton disapproved of, obviously. Suddenly Lang got a hint of what had turned fresh-faced William into a heartbreaking cad. Namely, big brother. The king of cads.

From the house they heard the jarring sound of the front door slamming shut, and when they turned, Lorna stood at the front of the porch, gaping into the distance. Her blond hair was pulled back in combs away from her face, but spilled down her shoulders. Light wind billowed her calico
skirts around her. She lifted one hand to her cheek and used the other to tame her ballooning skirts. The last gesture pulled her dress taut over her round belly, giving the three of them a starkly clear silhouette of her condition.

William gasped, transfixed. Emma and Lang were forgotten. The young man moved forward, as if in a trance, his long legs eating up the distance between himself and Lorna in nothing flat. He reached her, and for a moment the two blinked at each other in a silent standoff, eyes brimming with unspeakable yearning. Within seconds, without words, a volume of meaning was spoken. Then, as one, they came together in an explosion of emotion and movement of arms embracing, legs entwining, head buried in shoulder and then tilted up for a kiss. A howl of regret and sorrow carried on the afternoon breeze, followed by a murmur of forgiveness. And love. When the two of them finally came together, there was no mistaking the redemptive promise of their kiss.

Observing the two safely cocooned in their own world, completely absorbed in each other and the moment, Lang felt a painful hitch in his chest. Next to him, Emma sniffled, and he turned to catch her wiping her eyes.

“That sheriff is bad news all around,” he said.

She nodded, then slowly peeled her gaze away from the two lovers and toward him. “William was looking at you,” she said, her voice flat. “Do you think he…?”

He shook his head. “But he might, someday.”

Lang turned back to the young embracing couple, so lost in each other, with such a long, sure, loving future ahead of them. A surge of pure envy suddenly pierced his heart.

“I
can’t remember when I’ve been so happy!” Lorna exhaled a breathy sigh, replaced the dipper in the well bucket and took her eyes off William for half a second to look at Emma. “Thank you for hiring him, Emma.”

No one could help being happy for Lorna and William. The two were so in love, it felt that spring had truly arrived. Neither hatchling chicks, baby kittens, or the first flowers of the season could have elicited more wistful glances from Emma. She felt about Lang the way Lorna felt about William, but she couldn’t take his hand in front of the others, or even in private. When her gaze strayed to his face, as it seemed to do several times an hour, she had to force herself to look away. Lang had made it clear that he was going to leave, and that their kiss would not be repeated, however much Emma might ache for an encore performance.

“I should be thanking you. You were the lure that got him out here to work for me,” Emma replied.

Surprisingly, Lorna put a comforting hand on her arm. “Maybe the sheriff will come around, Emma.”

Emma blinked, horrified. Had people noticed her pining—and did they think it was for Barton?

Lorna bit her lip worriedly. “William said Barton was awful mad about his coming out here to work. I hope that he isn’t punishing you for what we—”

“Heavens to Betsy!” Emma exclaimed. “The sheriff means nothing to me.”

Her friend looked confused. “Then who…?”

Obviously, people
had
noticed her pining. Emma blushed furiously, and tried with all her might not to look toward Lang, who was hoeing in the kitchen garden. But it seemed her eyes just gravitated that way of their own accord.

Lorna gasped. “Oh, Emma! Mr. Archibald?”

Emma shushed her. “No, of course not. I mean—well, not really.”

“But aren’t you afraid…?” Lorna’s face screwed up in question. “I mean, are you sure he’s just Mr. Archibald?”

“Of course he’s just Mr. Archibald.” Emma hated to think that all this time Lorna had been secretly worrying about an outlaw living in her house. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about with a baby on the way! Emma also didn’t want William to guess there might be anything amiss with their boarder. “We’ve had no evidence to the contrary, have we?”

Lorna shook her head, seeming to breathe a sigh of relief.

The next days witnessed more activity on the Colby farm than there had been on the place in years. The air was full of the sounds of work. William and Emma patched the barn roof and fixed part of the fence line. Lang and Lorna took turns expanding the little herb and vegetable garden behind the house, exerting themselves more than anyone until Lang fashioned a tube that allowed them to plant seed without either of them having to bend over. Now that Davy was up and about, he managed to befriend shy
Annalise, and the two children helped by fetching and carrying what they could, and bringing out cool lemonade to refresh the tired workers.

Rose Ellen was the only unproductive one of the lot. Emma hadn’t expected her to help out anyway, but for once her sister had a valid excuse for idleness. Rose Ellen had contracted chicken pox.

“I should have known that little urchin would spread his pestilence my way!” she moaned melodramatically the day after the disease was detected. Bored and pettish from a mere day in her room alone, she now lay across the settee in the parlor in her velvet dressing gown, her hand pressed to her forehead.

Emma shook her head. “Honestly, Rose Ellen. You’re worse than Davy was. And get your hand away from your face.”

Rose Ellen reluctantly did as she was told. “Davy is the reason I’m in this mess. Where is he, anyway? He said he would bring me some tea!”

“He’s posing on one of the mules. Annalise is drawing him as General Lee.”

She sighed. “I should have gone home. Now I’m stuck here for another two weeks, with nothing to do but watch you slide into ruin.”

Emma laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard farming referred to in quite that way.”

Her sister made a tutting sound that caused Emma to smile to herself. Rose Ellen had squared herself with Lorna. Now that Lorna and William Sealy were about to be married, she considered the situation a little less shocking and even struck a maternal pose with the younger woman. But she still couldn’t accustom herself to the idea of her sister taking up the plow.

“I was talking about you and the handsome Mr. Archibald.”

At the mere mention of Lang, Emma had to warn herself not to fall to pieces. She still hadn’t adjusted to the fact that he was going to leave her someday…especially now, after they’d worked side by side for so many days. The labor seemed to bond them, even beyond the bond their kiss had created in her heart, and yet each day, as Lang was able to perform increasingly more work for longer increments of time, she knew he was that much closer to saddling up and riding out of her life. Just thinking about that created a gully of pain in her chest, as though her heart had split in half.

She glanced away from Rose Ellen. “What about Mr. Archibald?”

“I’ve seen you watching him.”

Emma hurriedly checked the water pitcher she’d brought in full just moments before. “You said yourself that he’s a handsome man.”

Rose Ellen’s lips pursed. “Too handsome, if you want my opinion. Don’t forget what happened with the sheriff, Emma! Some men can’t be trusted, and we know nothing about Johann Archibald.”

“I do.” She knew he had a kind, steadfast nature, and patience few men possessed, and a pair of lips that made her swoon with fevered wanting each night as she tossed sleeplessly in her bed.

“Where does he come from?”

“Texas…”

Rose Ellen rolled her eyes. “
Where
in Texas? And who are his people? I’ve never met a person by the name of Archibald, never even heard tell of them.”

“Even you can’t know everyone worth knowing, Rose Ellen.”

Her sister huffed. “You’re just trying to make excuses because you’re sweet on him. But mind you, there’s no telling what’s in that man’s past. It might be something scandalous. He might be divorced!”

Emma couldn’t help it. She broke out laughing.

“What?” her sister asked, stunned that a simple admonition could bring forth gales of laughter.

If Rose Ellen only knew! Emma covered her mouth to disguise her chuckles, and forced herself to present a sobered face to her sister. “I’m sorry, Rose Ellen. You could be right. I guess I need to watch my step.” Before she could stop it, however, another giggle erupted from her.

Rose Ellen shifted unhappily on her seat, her face growing more heated with each chuckle from Emma’s lips. Finally it looked as if she could take no more. “Everyone’s having fun but me!” she burst out, beating her delicate fists against a velvet-covered pillow. “It’s not fair.”

Emma forced herself to stop giggling. “Rose Ellen, we’re
working
,” she said in a soothing tone, knowing that if there was anything her sister hated, it was work.

Rose Ellen crossed her arms and pouted. “You smile all the time now, and so does Lorna! That gangly William practically floats around this place in a cloud. Even Annalise laughs constantly now. She hardly seems like my child at all!”

Emma smiled patiently. “You’ll feel better soon.”

Actually, Rose Ellen was correct. Emma was having fun. Every day she sprang out of bed, ready to hurry through the regular morning chores so she could tackle the unfamiliar new work…with Lang by her side. She had to admit that he was part of the reason she was enjoying herself so much. Even the most backbreaking tasks she went about gladly, knowing a certain pair of dark eyes was watching her closely. He cared for her, she knew he did.

Every night she went to bed exhausted, and thinking about Lang. But these days felt rich and precious. Knowing Lang could leave any moment made each hour have a breathless intensity to it. Each day was dear.

“I might feel better,” Rose Ellen grumbled, “but I’ll still be too spotty to go to the spring picnic Sunday. I probably won’t be able to leave the house for a month!”

Emma tried to soothe her. “I know you’re not used to isolation, Rose Ellen, but you’ll soon be able to join the rest of us.”

Rose Ellen looked at her and sniffed. That sniff was followed by another, and another, and then her sister emitted a strangled hiccup. Then all hell broke loose. As Emma watched, amazed, a cascade of tears spilled from Rose Ellen’s beautiful blue eyes. She let out a heartrending throaty wail and buried her face in the blankets so that all Emma could see were her trembling shoulders.

“Good heavens!” Emma exclaimed, dropping down on the settee, where she was immediately engulfed in Rose Ellen’s hysterical embrace. Her sister clung to her as a small animal would cling to its mother, seeking warmth, understanding and emotional sustenance. “Rose Ellen, what’s wrong?”

A piercing sob rent the air. “I’m…so
…lonely!
”

“But I told you, you’ll feel better soon, and you’ll be able to go back to Galveston.”

Rose Ellen shook her head frantically. “But I don’t want to go back there!”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. Not want to go back? Why would that be, when for months she’d been trying to convince Emma to go there? “Why not?”

“Because I feel so all alone there!”

Emma could hardly believe her ears. “But you always worried
I
would feel lonely.”

“No, I didn’t. I just wanted to have you with me.” Rose Ellen pulled away slightly, her lashes valiantly blinking back the flood of tears as she mopped her sopping-wet hankie across her red nose. “I don’t have any friends in Galveston. I’ve never—” Her shoulders began to quake again “—had…any
…friends!
”

Emma was flabbergasted. “But of course you have!”

Rose Ellen tossed a challenging glance her way. “Who?”

“Well…” Emma searched her brain for a response. “What about Janine?”

Rose Ellen let out a disgusted sigh. “She only trotted after me all the time because I was popular with men.”

“But she writes to you….”

“That cat?” Rose Ellen bristled. “She’s written me twice since I moved away—once to tell me she’d married the bank president and then two weeks ago to gloat about what a scandal you were creating in town!”

Emma had never liked Janine herself, so none of this surprised her. Still… “But what about all the men who flock around you?”

“Since I got married, none of them care about me. A few would call occasionally, but it was always awkward. What was the point? And while I was carrying Annalise, even those calls stopped.”

Emma frowned. “You don’t have women friends in Galveston?”

“None!”

“But you have Edward. He loves you.”

Rose Ellen clucked her tongue miserably. “No, he doesn’t. All he does is criticize me and tell me I need to get out of bed more.”

Normally she would have agreed wholeheartedly with Edward, but seeing her sister reduced to such a state made
her unusually sympathetic to Rose Ellen’s aches and pains. “But surely you’ve explained about your headaches and your foot….”

Rose Ellen’s cheeks turned bright red.

“You
have
told him, haven’t you?” Emma asked, shocked that her sister would keep information about her health from her husband. Shocked that she could, even. Usually Rose Ellen burst into song about every twinge almost before it happened!

“Oh, Emma…” Rose Ellen stared down at the hands in her lap. For the first time in her life, Emma witnessed her sister looking humbled and ashamed. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible. “I don’t have headaches.”

Emma gaped at her, disbelieving. “What do you mean?”

Rose Ellen shook her head. “I did twist my ankle once, but it healed just fine.” She bit her lip and managed to meet Emma’s gaze. “I haven’t been sick a day in my life since Annalise was born. I just wanted you to come visit. You always liked taking care of people, so I thought if I were ill you’d arrive on my doorstep and things would be just like they used to be.”

Emma stared at her, amazed. “How they used to be?”

Rose Ellen blinked. “You know, the happy times…you and me.” Her lower lip quivered. “You were always the best friend I ever had, Emma!”

Emma was then engulfed in a viselike hug, and struggled to make sense of her sister’s words. She’d never thought Rose Ellen really cared about her. All those years when she had felt overshadowed and overlooked…she hadn’t thought her sister valued her at all. Apparently she’d been wrong.

She hugged Rose Ellen back, and gave her some comforting
pats. “I still can be your friend. I just can’t live in Galveston.”

Rose Ellen sniffed resentfully. “Because of Mr. Archibald!”

Emma shook her head. “Because I have work to do. I want my life to have purpose.”

Her sister sighed. “You’re so high-minded, but that’s because you know all about nursing people. It’s easy for you! I’ve never had to do one important thing in my life.”

Emma laughed, happy to hear her sister getting back to her old self a little. “You only have to look around you to find a purpose in your life, Rose Ellen.”

“How? I’m not good at one single thing, except being pretty. What can I do?”

Emma’s mind raced to come up with a talent specific to Rose Ellen. “Well…you write long, informative letters. You’re good at that.”

The younger woman’s rosy lips hitched skeptically. “What good is that? I suspect you didn’t even read some of them.”

Emma swallowed guiltily. “It’s a talent, Rose Ellen. Some people can’t write at all—or aren’t physically able to. You might visit a hospital and read and write letters for the sick there.”

Rose Ellen looked distressed that a concrete idea had been set before her. “I’m so tired! I think I’ll go to sleep now and think about it. You’ll wake me with dinner, won’t you?”

Emma nodded, and tucked the covers around her sister. “Of course.”

When she left the parlor and returned to the sunshine, she felt strangely happy. She looked out on the fields and remembered rambling in the countryside as a child, with Rose Ellen toddling behind her, and when they were a little
older, climbing trees and wading in the creek and even playing house on rainy days. Why had she forgotten those times? Had their more recent, troubled years made her forget that Rose Ellen was once her closest companion?