Twice Blessed (13 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Noah stood by the fence. He ignored the rain and the darkness. All he saw was the water flowing through the fallow field.

He glanced toward the sky and muttered, “Fire and flood. What's next? Pestilence?”

Keeping the umbrella Emma had insisted he bring over his head, he walked to the barn. The horses shifted nervously until he reached over the stall door and patted them.

“Don't worry. You aren't going to drown.” He grimaced. “Now I'm talking to horses. Maybe you were right, Ron. Maybe I am losing my mind to attempt this.” He cursed under his breath, then aloud. His younger brother had not been right when he said Noah's plans were doomed to failure. He had not been right five years ago, and he was not right now.

Opening the barn's back door, Noah shook his head as he stared at the bloated Ohio River. He swore he could see it rising even as he stood there. It was not far below the lip of the hill. If the water reached the top, it would flood the rest of the fields as well as the barn. The house was set a bit higher, but it would be cut off from everything else on its little island until the water cascaded through its rooms as well.

He sighed as he turned to retrace his steps. The wind grasped at the umbrella, but he did not let it soar away. Walking up to the house, he shook water off the umbrella before he went inside.

Gladys rushed to take his coat out to the kitchen where it could dry by the stove. She clucked like a hen fretting about her chicks.

Noah smiled. Gladys had been with him for longer than Belinda had, and the housekeeper had accepted—without too much grousing—every change they had gone through in the past five years.

His smile faded as he saw Emma standing in the doorway to the dining room. She held out a steaming cup to him, and he found himself imagining her welcoming him home like this night after night. A foolish fantasy. Not only would she usually be busy at the store during the hour when he finished his chores, but his life was too full of complications now. He hoped to stay here on this farm, yet knew that might not be possible. Her feet were planted firmly in Haven. He needed to be ready to go wherever he had to in order to protect Belinda.

“Is it so bad?” she asked, and he knew she believed his unsettled thoughts were focused on the creek.

Where they should be, instead of noting how her blouse had come loose from her black skirt on her right side. His gaze edged up from her slender waist to her breasts, which were outlined by the lace along the front of her blouse. It was, he noted, rumpled from where he had pulled her into his arms.

He took the cup of coffee she handed him. Taking her hand, he laced his fingers through hers. The warmth of her palm against his invited him to pull her into his arms again. Instead, he said, “It isn't good, Emma. The creek is already in the field across the road, and the Ohio is almost to top of the hill behind the barn.”

Emma swallowed hard. She had other questions, but she doubted if her voice could be as calm as his. When his fingers squeezed hers, she drew her hand out of his. Clear thinking was not easy when he touched her. Turning so she did not have to see his reaction, she asked, “Don't you think some of this furniture should be moved upstairs?”

“I want to let the children sleep for as long as possible.” He ran his hand along the dining room table. “I doubt if I could get this up those narrow stairs alone.”

“I'd be glad to help.”

“'Tis kind of you to offer, Emma, but I wouldn't ask a woman to—”

“Balderdash!” She sat, resting her elbows on the table. When he pulled out his chair and sat, she added, “I tote about heavy crates and cans all day at the store, so I can help move some furniture. It'd be a shame for all your new furniture from Chicago to be ruined.”

“Chicago?” His wide hand pinned her wrist to the table as he slammed down his cup and glowered at her. “What gave you the idea this furniture came from Chicago?”

She frowned. “Release me.”

“Answer my question.”

“When you release me and explain why you're acting like a madman simply because I expressed concern about your things.”

His fingers slowly lifted off her wrist. Picking up his cup, he took a deep drink. The silence dragged on, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to say something more or change the subject. She would, if she could think of anything other than his angry expression. There had been something else in his eyes, a wild, fearsome glow that frightened her.

Finally he said, “I'm sorry, Emma.” He sighed.

“Tell me why my question upset you so much.”

“If you tell me how you know this furniture came from Chicago.” He smiled abruptly. “Turnabout is fair play, they say, and speaking of that will keep my thoughts off the swelling creek.”

She let some of the tension ease off her shoulders and nodded. Caught up in his peculiar response to her comment, she had forgotten—for a moment—the real trouble looming not so far from his front door.

“Fair enough,” she replied. “I saw this very room of furniture in a catalog put out by a company in Chicago. They were one of the first to rebuild after the fire.” She glanced at the window as another flash of lightning blinded the darkness, making it seem even deeper. “I'm not sure which is worse—fire or flood.”

“I would prefer not to have to face either tonight.” He stood and went to the window. “I should check on the barn and make sure the horses aren't up to their withers in water.”

“You haven't answered my question. What upset you?”

He did not face her. “You.”

“Me?” Her voice came out in a squeak.

“Yes, you.” He came back around the table and drew her to her feet. “You've upset me more than anyone has in a long time. When I should be thinking of a week's work being lost as it glides away down the Ohio, I think instead of how your golden hair refuses to stay in its bun.”

She put her hand up to her hair, but he drew it aside as his finger teased the soft, sensitive skin directly behind her ear. An unstoppable thrill soared along every nerve, setting each one afire with a craving that ached deep within her. As his lips curved in a smile, she raised her gaze to meet his eyes. She could no more look away than she could have willed her heart to stop the frantic pulse echoing through her in a wild rhythm which somehow matched the beguiling stroke of his fingertip.

“Can you read my thoughts?” he whispered.

She almost said yes, for she had few doubts what he was thinking when he spellbound her with a simple caress. In a voice as low as his, she answered, “Why do you ask that?”

“Because I was thinking in the foyer about how I'd like to hold you again, and you've given me the very opportunity I was wishing for.”

With his finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face back. So slowly she nearly cried out her longing for his touch, he bent to kiss her. The tip of his tongue caressed her lips, heating them to a flame which burst into wildfire when his mouth claimed hers. She stroked the hard muscles of his back as she boldly teased his tongue with her own. Stepping closer to him, she exulted in the unyielding planes of his body.

“Mr. Sawyer, I … well, well! It's about time.” Gladys's chuckle had a very satisfied sound.

Emma eased out of Noah's arms, but he kept his arm around her waist. With a laugh as lighthearted as his housekeeper's, he asked, “Time for what?”

Gladys winked at Emma. “I swear, Mr. Sawyer, you haven't spoken a sentence in the last week that didn't include Miss Delancy's name in it. 'Tis about time you stopped talking.” Untying her apron, she added, “I'm going to go to bed now, Mr. Sawyer. Let me know if you need anything.” She chuckled as she reached for the door. “Looks as if you've got all you can handle right now.”

As the door closed, Emma laughed. She handed the cup of coffee back to Noah as he regarded her with a smile. “Don't look so amazed,” she said. “Haven may look pretty settled now, but it was a bit rougher around the edges when I first got here. I've heard much worse.”

“About you?”

“Not in Haven.”

“What convinced a young woman to come here to take over the general store?” he asked, toying with a loose strand of her hair.

Something struck the house, and he rushed to the front door. Emma was relieved at the interruption. What had she been thinking to allow the conversation to wander in the direction of her past?

“I need to go and check what that was,” Noah said, grabbing another coat from the hook in the hall. “Stay here.”

Emma ran to get the umbrella, but he was gone before she reached it. She flinched when she heard something else bang into the house. The wind was rising along with the water. Being outside was more perilous than ever, but she could not quell her curiosity. She reached to open the door to see what might be visible from the porch.

She froze as she heard a sharp cry of, “Help me!” It did not come from outside, but from upstairs. Whirling, she grabbed a handful of skirts and lifted them to an immodest height as she raced up the stairs. She ran along the hall and threw open the partially closed bedroom door. The moaning became louder.

One of the children! She took a single step, and her foot struck something soft. She heard another groan.

Dropping to her knees, she gasped, “Sean! What's wrong?”

“Sick,” he whispered. He clawed at the floor, and she realized he was trying to get to the door. He was too sick to stand.

“Your stomach?”

“It's going to explode. I think I'm going to die.”

She scooped him up into her arms. She tried to stand, but dropped back to her knees. Pain rushed across them, but she paid it no mind. Again she fought to stand. A hand under her elbow assisted her. She nodded her thanks to Gladys.

“Take him to the parlor. I'll bring a bucket,” the housekeeper ordered.

Emma nodded again. Her teeth were clenched too hard to speak. She hoped she could get down the stairs without dropping Sean. The boy was heavier than she had guessed. She hurried along the hallway at the best pace she could manage.

He moaned as she carried him down the stairs. Gladys reached them with a bucket just as Sean threw up. Sitting on the bottommost step, Emma kept her arms around him as his stomach fought to expel everything in it.

When he was done, she carried him into the parlor and placed him on the sofa. She was glad when Gladys followed with the bucket. The housekeeper handed her some damp cloths.

“Thank you,” Emma said. “I had no idea he might be sick or I wouldn't have brought him here and chanced Belinda becoming ill, too.”

“I don't think that's why he is sick.” Gladys lingered by the sofa. “I noticed when I went into the kitchen that the chocolate cake is gone.”

Emma shook her head as she dabbed the cloth against boy's forehead. “Sean, you should have known better.”

“It was so good.” He groaned. “I never tasted anything like it. I was going to take just a little piece more. Then I …” His face became an odious shade of gray.

She held the bucket under him while he was sick again. When she leaned him back on the sofa, she heard the door open.

Noah came into the house, water dripping from every inch of him as his wet clothes adhered like a second layer of skin. She looked away. Now, when Sean was so sick, was not the time to admire those strong muscles so temptingly outlined against his soaked shirt and denims.

“Let's go,” he said.

“Go?”

“Gladys, get Belinda. We have to leave. Now!” Striding into the parlor, he motioned with his head. “Let's go, Emma. I have your horse hooked to your wagon and mine saddled. You and Gladys and the children can ride in the wagon while I guide your horse.”

“Can't we wait for dawn so we can see? We could drive right into the rising water.”

“The river is rushing through the barn now. If we stay here another hour, we may be swimming in this room.”

“There's a bridge farther up the creek that may be high enough to let us get across and into Haven, which should be safely above the water line.” She heard her own uncertainty. If the water rose high enough to enter Haven, her store would be one of the first places underwater.

“Maybe.”

“I have to hope so. It should be—” She turned back to Sean as the boy groaned and reached for the bucket again. She held it for him as he retched.

Noah frowned. She hastened to explain why Sean was ill, because she knew all of Noah's thoughts were about his daughter.

With a sigh, Noah said, “I did some stupid things myself when I was a boy. Can he travel?”

“I can,” Sean averred, trying to lift his head. He groaned and dropped back onto the sofa.

As he reached to pick up the boy, Emma said, “Just a moment.” She gathered her skirts up and ran into the kitchen. Snatching Sean's dry coat from the chair set near the stove, she carried it back into the parlor. “Put this on, so he doesn't get wet and take a chill.”

“Hurry. We're all going to be wet if we don't leave,” Noah replied.

A squeal of excitement came from the front hall, and she saw Belinda wiggling in Gladys's arms. Behind them, the puppy followed gamely, even though he limped on each step.

“Let's go!” Gladys grabbed an umbrella and hurried out the door.

Emma started to follow them, but paused when Noah called her name. Startled, because he had been so determined for them to leave without delay, she turned.

“Will you bring Martha's photograph with you?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. Going to the fireplace, she lifted down the small frame and slipped it into a pocket in her skirt. “It should be safe here.”

“Belinda would be heartbroken if it was lost.” He hurried to the door and out onto the porch.

She heard him calling instructions to Gladys and knew she should rush after him. Instead, she looked around the room. It was as perfect as the pictures, but she feared, with the picture now in her pocket, this parlor had as little life as the items in the catalog. Everything was too new, and there was nothing to suggest Noah and his daughter lived here. With a sad sigh, she went to the door.