As punishment, her parents forbade her to step foot from the house unescorted for a week, but thankfully the next day was Sunday, which meant they would all go to church together. And that would give Emma a chance to speak with Randall—or so she presumed. There were a dozen or more churches in Greeley, but her parents intended on joining the one Mr. Turnbull attended, which was only six blocks from their house.
As Emma got ready, with Josephine’s help, she hoped her parents would be in a more gracious, forgiving mood—considering that this was the Lord’s Day. Her father had gone on a tirade once she entered the house, and Emma couldn’t fault him. She could have died somewhere out on the prairie, and they wouldn’t have been the wiser. When they heard how a cowboy had saved her and taken her to an Indian’s ranch, her mother nearly had apoplexy. No amount of reassurance could convince her parents that Mr. Rawlings was a decent, kind man who had behaved perfectly gentlemanly toward her. If her mother had her way, she wouldn’t let Emma ever go outside alone. And her father made it clear she was not allowed for any reason whatsoever to step outside the fenced perimeter of the town. Ever.
Emma understood their concerns and acquiesced to their wishes. She had no interest in venturing again out into the wild anytime soon, anyway. She could content herself to exploring the town and finding a quiet place in a field to draw and paint. And hopefully Randall would make time in his busy schedule to court her. At least that was what she hoped.
Thinking she might see him at church made her flustered, and she hurried Josephine to finish up with her hair. When finally ready, Emma studied herself in the full-length mirror standing in the corner of her room. Her indigo dress complemented her eyes, and her many taffeta skirts swished as she turned one way, then another. Fortunately she’d been spared visible scratches and bruises from her fall, although her legs and back ached in spurts. Walking would do her some good to work out the stiffness, she surmised. She patted her hair to make sure all the pins were in place, and was pleased at how much nicer she looked than yesterday. She hoped Randall would notice her.
She thought about her mare and hoped she was recovering quickly. Which made her think of Lucas Rawlings and how gentle he’d been with her horse—and with her. Thinking about the way he’d gazed at her with his emerald eyes, and that warm, confident smile . . .
She pushed aside her fanciful thoughts. No doubt she thought him attractive because of all the adventurous Wild West stories she and Randall used to read. Mr. Rawlings reminded her of those dashing, brave heroes who rode across the plains on their mustangs and saved the poor settlers from Indian attacks.
She grinned. Her “hero” seemed more likely to team up with the Indians to fight the settlers. A frown creased her face. She didn’t understand why so many people hated the Indians. They’d been living here in the West first, and it seemed to her it was the white man who disrupted their way of life and killed them and forced them to relocate to Indian reservations. She then thought about Sarah, and what she had told her as they rode back together to town. How her grandfather had been killed in some massacre. And how her grandmother had decided to leave, and go with her tribe to Oklahoma. Emma could tell, as Sarah talked, that there was much unspoken pain and sorrow in her past. Emma wondered if Sarah often encountered people who treated her with contempt due to her heritage. She hoped not.
But people formed opinions, and often from ignorance. All she had to do was look at her parents, who claimed to be open-minded and fair.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her mother’s shrill call to hurry, and she went to join her parents.
As they walked down the street with a soft, crisp breeze buffeting them, they noticed many other couples and families, dressed in their Sunday finest, heading to the various churches sprinkled throughout the town. People courteously nodded and greeted them as they passed, and Emma felt excited that she would finally meet some other people. Maybe even some girls her age.
Her hopes were realized when they arrived at the steps of the pretty whitewashed church with a bell tower above the entry. Emma spotted two girls who looked near her age. Her father waved over a man who was standing with one of them, and a woman and two boys, who appeared to be identical twins about ten years old, followed behind him. The girl smiled when she caught sight of Emma, and Emma felt a genuine kindness in her greeting.
Her father introduced them as the Edwardses. Mr. Edwards introduced the two boys—Henry and Tom—and his daughter, Violet. Emma noted her happy round face held a welcoming expression, and although Violet filled out her dress a bit, especially at the waist, she was pretty in a simple way. She didn’t have the airs of someone who had been raised with a lot of money. She seemed easygoing and genuine, and Emma immediately liked her.
After they exchanged greetings, her father said, “Mr. Edwards designed our home—and many others in Greeley. They’ve been here since the founding of the town.”
Emma’s mother immediately began gushing her praises of their house, and then engaged Mrs. Edwards in a lively conversation, allowing Emma to spend some time chatting with Violet. She learned Violet was a year older than she, and her personality was as sweet as her simple looks. Emma wouldn’t call her beautiful, but Violet had a sincere, friendly nature and liked to laugh. She seemed to find almost everything Emma said funny.
“Do you have any hobbies?” Violet asked. “I’m studying music, and want to someday play in an orchestra.”
Emma was surprised. “What instrument do you play?”
“The flute. I’ll play for you sometime. Do you play an instrument?”
Emma shrugged. “I took piano lessons for years, but I lack talent. But I love to draw and paint and hope to one day publish my artwork.”
Violet’s eyes grew big. “I’d love to see your drawings! I can’t even draw a straight line.”
Emma’s attention was distracted by boys’ loud voices. Mr. Edwards had grabbed the arms of both his sons and was scolding them, but Emma couldn’t hear what was being said. Violet laughed and shook her head. “My brothers are wild and get into a lot of trouble. All they do is play cowboys and talk about hunting buffalo.” She leaned in close to Emma and rolled her eyes. “They drive me batty. But at least now that they’ve got ponies to ride, they don’t bother me so much anymore when I’m trying to practice. And Lucas is teaching them to rope and ride properly, which keeps them plenty busy—”
“Lucas. Do you mean Lucas Rawlings? The veterinarian?”
Violet nodded. “He’s the vet we use for our horses.”
Emma could picture Mr. Rawlings spending time patiently teaching a couple of wild boys. He seemed to have a well of patience. How sweet of him to take those two boys under his wing. No doubt their father was very busy with his work and probably didn’t have the time—or know-how—to teach his sons such skills. Maybe Violet would know if Mr. Rawlings has a wife and children. But she could never ask such a nosy question. And what would Violet think? She chided herself for even thinking such thoughts.
Violet pulled back in surprise. “So, have you met him?”
Emma nodded, but before she could say more, the church bell rang and clanged out a sonorous tone that filled the air around them.
“Time to go inside,” Violet said, taking her arm. She shot Emma a genuine smile. “I’m so glad to meet you! There’s one other girl near our age—Lily—that goes to our church, but she’s . . . well, you’ll have to see for yourself. I do hope, though, we’ll become fast friends.”
Emma smiled back, grateful to have finally made a friend. “I’m sure we will.”
She glanced around to see if Randall had come, but she saw neither him nor his father. Maybe they were already inside the church. Thinking about his sweet face made her smile. She had wanted to invite him and his father to dinner, but after her fiasco yesterday, she didn’t dare mention it to her mother. She would have to hope she could sway Randall to show her around the town sometime this week. Since I’m not allowed anywhere without an escort, she reminded herself with annoyance.
Emma sat with her family alongside the Edwardses near the middle of the church. As they were singing the opening hymn, Emma caught movement in the back of the church. Randall and his father slipped in and sat in one of the last pews.
Emma breathed a sigh of relief, and her pulse quickened. Her quick glance showed Randall handsomely dressed in his Sunday best, and when he spotted her looking back, he sent her a smile and a nod. With hot cheeks, she turned to the front and focused on singing from her hymnal. The shame and regret of yesterday flitted away like clouds breaking apart in a brisk wind, leaving her with a shiver of excitement, knowing she would finally get to speak with Randall—the first time since the day they’d arrived on the train.
Under her lashes, Emma caught sight of Randall walking her way. She felt her cheeks heat up as he approached, looking very handsome and rested. Much more at ease than when she last saw him.
“Emma,” he said, taking her gloved hand and gallantly kissing it. Emma felt her cheeks heat another notch. He threw her a smile that sent her heart racing, and she fumbled for words. Why was she so befuddled around him—the boy she used to chase around the yard? Because the little boy has grown up to be a fine, charming man.
“Hello, Randall. I’m so pleased to see you. How have you been settling into your new job?”
A shadow passed across his eyes for just a moment, but Randall quickly sported a smile. “Very well. Father has been putting my schooling to the test. My desk is piled high with his books and receipts, but I’m wading through them.” He lowered his voice and leaned a little closer, which made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. “I learned he’d been trying to sort it all out himself for a while, without an accountant. He may be a shrewd businessman, but he’s not the most organized. It may take years for me to put everything right.”
Randall glanced to the left, and Emma caught sight of his father speaking with hers. She noticed visible relief on Randall’s face.
“Well,” she said, “I’m sure you are up to the task.” His expression, though, showed he worried if that were so.
Churchgoers milled around the front lawn, and Emma and Randall walked to stand under the swaying branches of a willow that filtered out most of the hot noon sun.
“Have you been introduced to anyone yet?”
Emma nodded her head toward Violet and her family, who stood on the front steps of the church speaking to the pastor. “Violet is sweet. I think we’ll become good friends.”
Randall nodded. “My father introduced me to Mr. Edwards earlier. He built my father’s house—and yours, I understand.” He tipped his head toward a finely dressed couple coming down the steps of the church, followed by a young woman wearing a very fashionable dress and hat. She looked every bit the fashion model out of Godey’s Lady’s Book. Even held her chin up, which accentuated a pert turned-up nose.
“And who is that?” Emma asked.
Randall let out a quiet chuckle. “The Wilkersons and their daughter, Lily.”
Oh, Emma thought, that must be the Lily Violet was speaking about earlier. She wondered at Randall’s amusement until she saw Lily walk right up to a young man standing alone on the lawn. Even from where Emma stood, she could tell Lily was flirting—quite unabashedly. Emma knew her type. And apparently so did Randall.
“The Wilkersons have a produce shipping business here in Greeley. Mr. Wilkerson owns numerous warehouses back in New Jersey. He has a large facility at the north end of town. Some of the residents sell their produce out of town via his shipping company. I hear he wants to get into potatoes.”
Emma turned back to look at Randall, having watched enough of Lily and her ministrations to the poor young man who appeared a bit flustered by her forwardness.
Randall asked suddenly, “Would you like to take a walk—see more of the town? We could have a light lunch at the hotel. They’re open on Sundays.”
Emma smiled, pleased at the offer and knowing her father shouldn’t have any objection to her being out with Randall. The idea of spending the afternoon out of her house and away from her parents appealed to her greatly. She wasn’t sure she’d heard the last of their chastisement for her recent escapade.
“Let’s go ask my parents,” she said.
As they walked over, Randall looped her arm through his. Emma sucked in a gasp. That was quite forward of him, to do so in public, at church. Which made Emma wonder about his intentions. For surely he was announcing to all his interest in her.
Emma tried to calm her breathing as she came up to her father. “Randall has expressed interest in showing me more of the town. Would that be all right, Father?”
“Why, of course,” her father said, giving Randall a look of approval. Her mother stopped talking to Mrs. Edwards and looked over. A beatific smile rose on her face upon seeing Randall with Emma.
“Oh, dear Randall. How nice you look. Very stylish.”
Emma cringed. Her mother always commented on what others wore. But Randall politely returned the compliment, remarking on her mother’s lovely sea-green dress and matching bonnet.
Emma stifled a smile. Having four older sisters surely had taught him to compliment a woman on her attire. She could only imagine what it had been like for him growing up in a house surrounded by teenage girls all concerned over their appearance.
“Well, shall we go?” she said, eager to be off and not get entangled in any lengthy introductions of more of her neighbors. It seemed her parents were introducing themselves to everyone, and she was aware of many sets of eyes upon her, perhaps wondering who she was and who this man was with her. Did they think she and Randall were engaged? She caught Lily looking over at her. Hopefully she will think so, and leave Randall alone. Lily was a true beauty, perhaps only a year or two older than she, and she would turn any man’s head. Emma wondered why she wasn’t married already. But maybe she was more interested in the pursuit than the catch.
Randall led her down the walkway toward the street, where Emma caught sight of Violet, with her brothers in tow. The two boys seemed quite happy to be dragged away from the church.
“Hello,” Violet said cheerily, coming toward them. She smiled at Randall, but Emma could tell it was sincere and unpretentious. “Who’s this?” she asked Emma.
“This . . . is Randall Turnbull. He and I grew up together, and he’s also just moved out here, to work with his father.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Violet said with a curtsey.
“And yours,” Randall replied with a tip of his bowler hat.
“Turnbull. Ah, I know your father. From when my father was building his house.”
If Violet had any negative feelings for Mr. Turnbull, she hid them. But perhaps Randall’s father was all charm and gentility to those who didn’t know him well.
Violet’s two brothers tugged hard on her arms. One of them whined, “Vi, let’s go!”
Violet scolded him with a severe look. “Thomas, mind your manners, or I won’t take you.”
The boys instantly stopped wiggling and shut their mouths.
“Papa’s given me some money for ice cream. Do you want to come along?” Violet asked Emma, then questioned Randall with her eyes.
Before Randall could answer, Emma spoke. “Randall’s going to show me around town, and then we’re having lunch.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely! Well,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I better go before my arms get ripped from their sockets.” She called back to Emma as she hurried down the road, “Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow to see you.”
“I’d love that,” Emma called back, chuckling at the sight of her new friend being dragged down the street.
“Would you like to show me your office?” Emma asked.
Randall’s jaw tightened. “Not today. I’d rather forget about work for a while.”
As if he heard his son, Mr. Turnbull was suddenly alongside them. Emma hadn’t seen him come up.
Randall stopped abruptly, and Emma heard him suck in a breath.
“Where are you going?” Mr. Turnbull asked, a bit demanding. She noted he didn’t even bother to say hello to her.
“I’m taking Emma on a walk—to show her some of the town. She hasn’t had a chance to see it yet.” Randall reached up to his throat and fiddled with his shirt collar.
Mr. Turnbull gave Emma a hasty glance, then returned his scrutinizing gaze to his son. “I see. Well, that’s a fine idea,” he conceded.
Emma heard Randall let out a long breath as he stood stiffly beside her. Why did Randall bristle so easily around his father? He seemed practically terrified.
She gave Mr. Turnbull a sweet smile as she patted Randall’s arm. “I do hope we can have you and Randall over for dinner sometime. Perhaps next Sunday, after church? Mother and I were discussing having you over.”
Mr. Turnbull smiled in a way that gave him the appearance of a squirrel with acorns stuffed in its cheeks. “Why, that would be lovely, Miss Bradshaw. “ He then turned to look Randall in the eyes. Emma could almost feel the coldness emanate from his gaze.
“Don’t forget I must have the totals for last month’s expenditures first thing in the morning.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Randall said evenly. He stood there unmoving—like a frightened horse, Emma thought—until Mr. Turnbull said good day, tipped his hat at her, and returned to the church.
Randall bit his lip. She waited, unsure what to say. He resumed walking, looking off somewhere in the distance. Emma kept pace by his side.
“Does that mean you have to work today?” When Randall nodded, she said, “But it’s Sunday—”
“Tell that to my father. Sunday is just like any other day to him. A day to make money.”
Emma grew thoughtful. It was wrong to work on Sunday, the Lord’s Day. Why couldn’t Randall just tell his father no? What was the rush to have those records done by Monday morning? What difference would a few hours make?
But Emma said nothing. She just walked in silence alongside Randall while he fumed, his mind preoccupied, hardly noticing she was there.
Lucas pushed open the door of the mercantile with his shoulder while balancing the load in his arms. He’d put off getting the rest of the supplies he needed to start stringing the new fencing, and Sarah had asked him to pick up “a few things”—although her list filled nearly a full page. Since he attended church in town, he assured her it was no bother. But he knew to bring the wagon instead of riding Ransom. At least his horse would get a Sunday rest, even if he didn’t.
As he carried the first load—which included a fifty-pound sack of flour—out to the street, he thought about the sermon he’d listened to this morning. About how husbands should treat their wives, and how wives should respect their husbands. His mind had drifted to happy memories of his short years with Alice. Three years married, and now three years without her. How the time fled by. Would he get old and crotchety before he ever found someone to marry? Who would want him then?
Lucas shook his head as he flopped the heavy sack down on the wagon’s flat bed situated behind the buckboard. He arranged the sacks and went back into the store for the rest of his load. He’d been trying to forget—or at least ignore—that vision Sarah’d had of the blue pools. When she saw Emma Bradshaw open her eyes that morning, it was clear from her expression she believed this was the woman for him. A rich, fancy young woman from a big city who knew nothing about surviving the hardships of the Front Range. A woman who was used to ease and comfort. He doubted she would last long out here.
He chortled as he pushed the door back open and skipped down the steps to the street. What did Sarah know, anyway? A lot about herbs and healing, and plenty about horses. But he didn’t fancy her being a matchmaker or fortune-teller. He’d pick his own wife, in his own good time.
A glance down the street stopped him in his tracks. He straightened and watched as Emma Bradshaw came out of a shop—accompanied by a man who seemed quite familiar with her. Lucas knew he shouldn’t stare, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was maybe fifty feet from him, but facing the street and not looking his way. She was dressed in a stunning blue skirt and stark white buttoned blouse that shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Her black hair was swept up on her head and topped with a simple bonnet that tied under her chin. She was quite a different sight than the muddy mess he’d tended to on the bank of the South Platte.
Lucas climbed up onto the bench seat and picked up the reins, but he couldn’t get himself to cluck at the horse. The young man who had Emma’s arm wrapped around his exuded wealth and class. Lucas hadn’t seen him around, but he didn’t know everyone. It was evident the man had affection for Miss Bradshaw.
His throat tightened as he watched her laugh at something the man said, throwing back her head and exposing her creamy neck. Lucas’s chest filled with a fierce longing, which both surprised and annoyed him. Clearly this woman with the two blue pools already had her sights set on another man. Besides, who was he—a cowboy veterinarian—to even consider courting a woman of her means and upbringing? Sure, he’d been raised in a family with money and class for a time—before the war ripped it all away and forced him into years of hard labor under the Confederate flag. But that was past. He had nothing now. Nothing but his skills and his haunting memories.
Nothing to offer a lady like Emma Bradshaw.
Emma touched the man’s cheek, and Lucas flinched. He swallowed and pushed his hat down over his forehead. He then pushed thoughts of Emma’s sweet face and soft skin out of his mind and drove the wagon straight out of town, past the couple strolling happily down the boardwalk, resisting the urge to look back.
When he turned onto the wide road leaving town, he urged the horse into a fast trot. He couldn’t get back to the ranch soon enough