They rode mostly in silence the three miles back to town. Emma feared the grasshoppers would descend once more, as they had when she and Sarah had run back to the ranch, but only a few stray ones flitted past them now and then. Emma wasn’t sure if Lucas had been wholly honest with her when he insisted she stay put on his horse, just in case a swarm blew in and her horse spooked. Although she knew he was primarily concerned about her safety, part of her hoped he’d kept her on his horse because he wanted to be close to her.
She had to admit, at this moment, she couldn’t think of anyplace she’d rather be than perched on Lucas’s saddle in front of him, with his comforting arms draped around the sides of her body as he lightly held the reins. Ransom was so responsive to Lucas’s subtle signals and shift in body posture that he hardly had to move at all. At one point, where the empty road leveled out, Lucas asked if she’d like to lope, promising he’d hold on to her so she didn’t slip off—since she was sitting sidesaddle on what he called “an ordinary Mexican saddle.” Seeing that Shahayla was prancing with nervous energy from the day’s earlier commotion, she turned her head and gave Lucas a nod and smile, a bubble of joy welling up in her heart.
Despite the fright she’d had that morning, the brisk fall air and thrill of riding ensconced in a cowboy’s arms couldn’t be more romantic. Well, she could think of other things that would make it more so, but she did not allow her mind to wander off in that direction. Emma was surprised by Ransom’s perfectly smooth gait; she hardly bounced at all—although Lucas’s arms pressed in close and held her secure. By the time they’d slowed to a walk, with both horses breathing hard, Emma found herself hardly taking a breath at all. Her heart pounded in a way that made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. She chalked it up to the stunning fall day and the relief that the swarm of grasshoppers had dissipated. But her heart argued that there was a different reason for such deep-seated joy.
The smooth half-hour ride passed before she knew it, and all too soon they were turning onto her street. Without suggesting it, he’d gone north past the main entrance to town, by the railroad depot, and turned in closer to her house. No doubt to avoid curious onlookers who might come to wrong conclusions—even though he told her if the grasshoppers were in town, they’d be engulfing the crop fields right now. His route kept them as far from the fields as possible.
Stormy clouds had gathered overhead, threatening rain. The temperature had dropped as well, and Emma pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. No one was on the street, and an eerie calm draped the neighborhood. Dozens of grasshoppers winged on the wind around them, appearing aimless. Emma wondered if they’d already eaten every plant in town and were engorged and sated.
Lucas stopped the horses and looked around. He shook his head. “Some of the farmers have their methods for trying to kill the ’hoppers, like using nets or kerosene or setting traps, but nothing really works. I hope most got their crops in before now. Although the barley and corn farmers have lost everything, no doubt.”
She glanced down the street to Mrs. Turner’s house, and even from this distance she could tell the insects had made short work of her lavish flower garden. Everything had been eaten down to the nub.
“I didn’t know they ate flowers,” she said, shaking her head sadly, knowing how much her neighbor prided herself on her garden. She imagined how upset the old woman would be. But at least she could replant; nothing was truly lost. Emma was glad she kept her pathetic little crape myrtle in the sunny anteroom at the back of the house. She had brought it inside when the weather had turned cold at night, unsure if it could survive.
“Flowers, tree bark, lichen, weeds, even other grasshoppers—if they’re hungry enough.” Lucas swiveled in the saddle, taking in the town. “They eat their weight in food each day. The best defense is chickens; they love the bugs. But you’d need an awful lot of them to make any dent in a swarm like the one we saw today. I’ve heard some swarms get up to a mile wide and long.”
Lucas dismounted, then reached up and helped Emma slide off his horse, his hands gently gripping her waist. They were halfway down her block, but she supposed he didn’t want to take the chance of her mother seeing her on his horse with his arms around her. She doubted her mother was outside though—now that it was evident the grasshoppers had come through this part of town. Emma imagined her cowering in her bedroom or hiding under the coverlet of her bed. But she appreciated his discretion.
At their first encounter, Emma expected this cowboy to be rough around the edges, but one thing she’d learned about Lucas Rawlings was that he was as mannered and considerate as any well-bred East Coast man raised in a proper home. She wondered what kind of home and family he had been raised in.
She walked around Ransom and untied her mare’s lead rope from the saddle strings, giving her a pat on her neck. Lucas had strapped her horse’s bridle to her saddle and put a halter on the mare instead for the trip back to town. Emma made to remove the halter, but Lucas laid his hand on her wrist. His touch once more sent a shudder through her.
“Keep it for now. No sense putting her bridle on when you’re only taking her over to her paddock. You can return it to me later.”
Emma thanked him and wondered if he said this in order to have an excuse to see her again. But now that they were close to her home, she felt suddenly self-conscious and awkward. Had anyone seen them riding together? Just what would people think, and would they tell her parents? Maybe this hadn’t been a wise idea. She could have ridden Shahayla without incident. As much as she’d enjoyed the intimacy of riding with Lucas, it was an improper indulgence—on both their parts.
She didn’t think he was taking advantage of her—not at all. But could she trust him to keep his own passions in check? She hardly knew him, and she’d been taught quite pointedly not to put herself in a compromising position in which a man might not be able to control himself. Riding in his arms the way she did would surely fit that description, yet Lucas had been the perfect gentleman. If he truly did feel anything for her—emotionally or physically—he didn’t reveal as much. Which made her wonder what went on in his mind; so often she could tell he was thinking about something, but he held back from speaking. He was mostly a mystery to her—an intriguing, compelling mystery.
So she could only guess what might have gone through his mind as he rode to town with her pressed so close. Surely her nearness brought back memories of his wife. Maybe he hadn’t had a woman in his arms, this close to him, since his wife died.
Emma then thought of how she’d cried at Sarah’s and how he cradled her close and soothed her with his words and hands. Had he done that with his wife? While she lay dying?
Maybe her riding back with him had stirred up painful memories, and that was why he was now so quiet and thoughtful, looking down toward town, a slight frown on his face. She wanted to say something but found she couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound forced or trite. They stood in the middle of the street, unspeaking. Then Lucas suddenly turned back to her, and she noticed his eyes glistening with tears.
“Is something the matter?” she asked quietly, glancing around as the nipping wind kicked up and dust swirled in small whirlwinds around them. He looked like he was struggling to find a way to answer her.
Fat raindrops now splattered on her head and around her feet. Shahayla pawed the ground restlessly as if wanting to go to her sheltered stall and be fed. For once, Emma didn’t care that her hair was coming undone. She didn’t care if anyone saw them at that moment. Seeing Lucas’s face etched with such emotion tugged hard at her heart. She’d never met a man with such an honest, vulnerable expression. He did nothing to hide his emotions, which was something men just didn’t do—at least not other men Emma knew. And his expression spoke of grief and loss.
He reached over and gently pushed a strand of wayward hair behind her ear. This simple touch of his hand caused her to tremble. He moved closer, dropping his hand to the side of her head, slowly pulling her toward him. Her heart beat hard as she realized he meant to kiss her. Her breath caught in her throat.
The poignant magic of the moment was shattered, though, by a loud, deep shout coming from down the street.
“Emma, what are you doing? Who is that with you?”
Emma turned and became horror-struck at the sight of her father—dressed in one of his fine three-piece suits—barreling down from their front porch and into the street. He stretched out his arms, his face scrunched and red, as if ready to grab her, as if she were in some kind of mortal danger. But she knew why he had such an expression. She quickly took a step back from Lucas, but to her surprise, he made no defensive move at all. His face showed no concern or remorse—nothing to indicate shame or embarrassment over what could only appear to her father as a moment of high indiscretion.
She touched a hand to her neck as a coldness washed over her. Suddenly the air seemed biting and unforgiving.
Emma flashed on how Lucas had practically ordered her father to take care of the carriage horse at the picnic, and not in a kindly tone. But she didn’t fault Lucas at all for his anger and harsh words that day. His actions may have saved Lynette’s life—although she doubted Walter would ever forgive the way Lucas had humiliated him in front of the crowd. And by humiliating her brother, Lucas had, by association, humiliated her father. No doubt her father was not happy to see her with Lucas. Especially not in such an intimate pose.
She swallowed hard, wondering just how her father would punish her this time. She squelched the knot of anger forming in her gut.
He strode up to Lucas, his face splotched red, as if he’d been recently arguing. Emma bit her lip to keep from saying a word. She knew there was nothing she could say in her defense—or in Lucas’s.
“Mr. Rawlings, I don’t know what you are up to,” he said, practically seething as he pushed his face into Lucas’s. “But I want you to stay away from my daughter—”
“Father!” Emma couldn’t just stand there and listen to her father yell at Lucas, who’d done nothing wrong. Before she could say more, he spun and faced her, his finger pointed close to her eyes.
“Not another word from you.” He blew out a hard breath and turned back to Lucas, his face hardened with deep wrinkled lines. “Where were you two? Did you arrange to meet her secretly somewhere?”
Emma withheld a gasp. Lucas waited—no doubt to make sure her father was willing to let him answer. A moment passed, with Lucas still standing calmly and unruffled, and then he spoke in a quiet tone. Emma smirked despondently. He’d have little success using his talents at calming horses on her father.
“Mr. Bradshaw, your daughter came over to visit Sarah Banks, the owner of the ranch where I live. I believe you’ve made her acquaintance.” When her father said nothing, his face still as tight as a drum, Lucas continued calmly, leaning up against Ransom and holding the reins loosely in his hand. “When the grasshoppers appeared, I’d been laying fencing with her sons. We ducked inside the house to wait out the swarm, and that’s where I encountered Miss Bradshaw. She was frightened, so I offered to escort her back to town. After her last incident with her horse, I was . . . concerned about her returning home safely.” He added evenly, “And here she is.”
To Emma’s surprise, he summarily dismissed her father by tipping his hat and swiftly mounting his horse. He pulled lightly on the reins, forcing Ransom to back away a few steps. Without even a quick glance at Emma or offering any farewell, he met her father’s burning gaze without a flinch, then adeptly spun his horse around in one smooth move—like she’d seen in the horse competition at the picnic—and took off down the road, first at a trot, then at a full canter.
Emma realized she had been holding her breath, and she let it out in a sigh. Her father stood there unmoving a few long moments. Then he turned to face her. She could tell he was working hard to contain his rage.
“We’ll discuss this later, young lady. For now, your mother needs you.” He headed back toward their house, and Emma hurried after him, her heart in her throat.
“Is Mother all right? Did something happen?”
He didn’t answer her, leaving her with an awful feeling of dread.
When she stepped inside, she heard talking and footsteps on the wood flooring. She was surprised to see dozens of grasshoppers bouncing around the rooms and hallway, smacking into the walls and windows. Perhaps they had blown in and now that the windows were closed could find no way out. Why were none of the servants catching them? Emma thought this very odd, and the house too quiet. Where was her mother?
She stepped carefully, trying to avoid the insects—which now hardly frightened her. Her thoughts were on her mother, imagining the worst. She noticed her father had gone into his study, and as she walked by she saw him standing at the window, staring out, deep in thought. At least he wasn’t yelling at her, although she thought that might be better than his anger-choked silence.
Would her father forbid her from going to Sarah’s now? From speaking to Lucas? Just the thought made her stomach clench. She was tired of being a prisoner in her home, under her father’s thumb. But what could she do? Nothing. I can do nothing but obey. And hope someday I will find a way out. Yet the only way out, from what she could conclude, was marriage. And the only man she knew her parents would approve of was Randall.
But maybe . . . maybe he might be her lifeline. She did so adore him. If only she really knew how he felt. Oh, she was so confused. She knew Randall had his faults. But no one was perfect, and maybe she was just being foolish to hope for someone dashing and fearless to sweep her off her feet. Maybe she had read too many of those adventure stories with Randall when they were young.
Just then, as she walked toward her parents’ room, hoping to find her mother, she saw Josephine stride toward her—dressed in a traveling outfit and carrying two suitcases.
She stopped before Emma, a look of resignation on her face. Emma’s jaw dropped as she realized what Josephine was doing. The older woman pressed her mouth into a tight line, and Emma noticed her eyes filling with tears.
“Josephine,” Emma practically whispered. “You’re leaving us . . .”
“I was content to come out here upon the missus’ request,” she told Emma in a forlorn but firm tone, “and I could tolerate the dust and hard work; I’d grown up with worse.” She visibly shuddered. “But those . . . bugs! The house was full of ’em, Miss Emma, and I’ve never had such a fright in my life. Nor do I intend to live in a town where such things swoop in like the plague of Moses.” A grasshopper flew by her face, and she paled and screeched, waving her hands. “I-I’m sorry,” she said, flustered beyond reason.
Emma gently took hold of her hands, bringing them down to Josephine’s sides. “It’s all right. I understand.”
Josephine’s eyes darted around, on the alert for another attack. She shook her head spastically. “I’m sorry, Miss Emma. I have to go. I’m catching the three o’clock train to Denver. I’ll go back to New York and find another position, spend some time with my nieces and nephews. Your father was gracious enough to write me a commendation.”
“My mother? Is she all right?”
Josephine chewed her lip. “She’s . . . lying down. The evil things practically attacked her while she was taking her bath. The tub is still half-filled with ’em. She slipped and fell trying to get out before I could go help her. I heard her scream, but there were so many . . .”
Josephine’s eyes were seared with terror. Emma patted her arm.
“You’ve had quite a scare. But they’re mostly gone now. Are you sure you’re not being hasty—?”
The maid who had worked for their family all Emma’s life straightened and held her chin high. “I’ve made my decision.” Then her face softened. “I wish you well, Miss Emma.” In a quieter voice she added, “I hope you marry that fine young man who sat with you on the train. He’ll take good care of you. Then you can have your own home and . . .” She let the words trail off.
Josephine didn’t need to finish her sentence for Emma to understand the implications. Emma wondered if it was more her mother’s hysterics and drama these past few months that had pushed Josephine out the door than the grasshoppers. Although she was sure the invasion of those pests was the last straw for her.
Emma frowned and threw her arms around Josephine. She’d hardly ever touched her in all these years; it was highly inappropriate. But Emma felt such affection and respect for this stalwart woman who had served her family well.
Josephine was a bit taken aback by the unexpected show of affection, but she smiled, and the tears in her eyes fell upon her cheeks.
Emma said, “Please write to me and tell me how you are. I only wish the best for you. I hope my father gave you some traveling money in addition to your wages.”
“Oh yes, he was more than generous.”
Good. Josephine deserves every penny. “Well, I don’t mean to keep you waiting. Is no one else here—no other servants?”
Josephine shook her head. “The cook should be here shortly, to start dinner. I feel terrible—”
“Don’t,” Emma said firmly. “You have your own life to live. You have to choose the right course for yourself, not for anyone else.”
As Josephine nodded and turned to go out the door, Emma knew she had said those words more for her own benefit than for Josephine’s.
She watched their long-time servant march down the front steps to the street. Then she turned and headed toward her mother’s bedroom—not at all happy to see what she’d find.