A corner of his more reasonable mind screamed in self-defense. “No, no!”
The rest of him, the man enthralled by the woman, sent out a louder roar. “YES!”
In either case, Peter found himself lost in the sweet tenderness of Emma’s lips. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but when he’d wound up on top of her, those splendid green eyes staring at him, her lips parted, her breath soft against his face, he’d felt as though he’d fallen—yes, fallen—not to the ground but under a spell. A spell the enchanting Emma Crowell, herself, had woven around him.
He hadn’t been able to help himself, just as he hadn’t been able to help himself when she’d kept herself busy in the cabin. She’d captured every bit of his attention, left him too captivated to resist her appeal.
Thoughts spun in his head, but they seemed to disappear behind the veil of sensation. Emma’s warmth, her sweet gentleness, her timid response all served to steal his sanity—
“PETER!”
The panicked scream barely pierced the haze of his passion. With great reluctance, Peter eased up on the kiss, his eyes focused on hers again. He heard the cry one more time, from somewhere near the cabin.
“Peter!” Wade called. “Where are you? It’s Robby!”
At the sound of his son’s name, Emma seemed to awaken as though from a dream, and, hands on his chest, pushed against him. She made a strangled sound in her throat, then wriggled her shoulders, kicked her legs under him. He pulled farther from her tempting lips, splayed his hands flat on either side of her shoulders.
“Pe-ter!” This time, Wade’s irritation broke through, and Peter reacted. He eased his torso up from hers. “It’s Robby!”
“I’m here!” he managed to croak out as he tried to gain his feet.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough. That was how his ranch hand found them, with Emma on her back on the ground at the edge of the forest, him on top, his arms framing her, their bodies pressed flat one to the other. Her lips were reddened and puffy, and no one with eyes to see could fail to note she’d just been kissed. Peter’s embarrassment knew no bounds. He imagined hers would be worse.
To his amazement, she sprang into action. “Get off!” She pushed—again. “What’s wrong with you? It’s about Robby.”
Wade ran up, and then pulled to a halt. “Oh!” He blushed. “I… ah… didn’t see you, miss. I’m… uh… sorry—”
“Don’t bother with that!” Emma said.
Peter scrambled up, Wade’s words finally registering. “What’s this about Robby?”
The horror in Wade’s eyes struck a matching fear in Peter. “Oh, boss,” his ranch hand said. “I don’t rightly know how it happened, but one moment I seen the boy on the corner of the barn roof, and the next, why… he—he’s falling—”
“Where?” Emma demanded.
Wade faced her, and if anything, turned redder still as he waved to the ground where they’d sprawled only moments earlier. “I’m so sorry, ma’am—”
“Stop!” she cried with a dismissive wave. “Robby. He’s what matters. What happened?”
“He fell, Miss Emma. Dunno how he got there, but straight off the barn roof…”
Before Wade had the words out of his mouth, Emma was already pelting toward the barn. Sudden anxiety and panic struck, and Peter found himself frozen to the ground. And yet… it was the mortification that overwhelmed him. Emma had responded like… well, like the mother the boy no longer had. He, on the other hand, Robby’s father, had acted like a lusty adolescent boy, more intent on and dazed by a pretty girl than focused on the son who counted on him. He’d failed. Again.
“Well,” he bit off the word, “what are you waiting for, Wade? Let’s go to the boy.”
Wade’s bewildered expression told Peter more than if the man had complained about his churlish response.
He sent a panicked prayer heavenward as he jolted himself out of his self-absorption. He started toward the barn. His leg kept his pace maddeningly slow, and he berated himself as he limped along as quickly as he could.
He hadn’t controlled his feelings, not around Emma, and certainly not now, in the face of his son’s emergency. His sense of inadequacy as a father grew. What kind of man was he? He’d failed to protect the wife of his youth, the mother of his son. Now he’d failed to protect Robby. He’d let his focus stray toward a pretty-faced girl who’d never make a good and proper wife for a rancher like him. Worse yet, he’d acted like little more than an animal, like nothing but an uncivilized man, one who’d surrendered to his baser, physical drives. Was he any better than Sawyer had been?
Shame and guilt threatened to bring him down like one of the trees around him as he and Wade reached the barn. He thanked God when he saw Emma crouched at Robby’s side, gently touching the boy’s legs, arms, his torso… his head. A scant second later, he let out a guttural groan when he saw the flow of blood on the boy’s forehead.
He stepped toward them. “Emma… is he—”
“Oh, Peter…” She shifted toward him. “He… he’s not, but…”
Tears poured down her cheeks, fear and dread mingled in her expression. She didn’t have to say any more. He understood.
He knelt awkwardly at their side, and saw what she’d tried to express. His son lay on the ground unconscious, wounded in ways he couldn’t know right then. One thing, however, he did know. The boy had struck his head in the fall. If Robby didn’t come to, there was no telling what the outcome would be.
Peter couldn’t bear the thought of another loss.
Not Robby!
“Let’s go,” he urged Wade. “Get the wagon ready. I need to get Robby to Doc Chalmers in Bountiful. I’ll bring Emma and you get Ned. He should come, too. The marshal will know what to do with them. You and Colley will have to manage things here yourselves until I can come home again. Robby comes first.”
“But, boss. There’s too much to do here—”
“I know.” His stomach roiled. But there really was nothing to think about. Between the ranch and his boy, his choice would always come down on Robby’s side. “I know better than anyone what all needs doing here, but it can’t be helped. Robby needs the doc, and I won’t let him wait for one of us to fetch him here. And it’s past time Emma went back. She’s said it often enough.” And he now knew she’d been right. He had to put himself as far away as possible from temptation. “This is the time to do it.”
Emma gasped, covered her mouth with her hand. Then, without a word, she stood slowly. “I’ll go fetch my cloak and some blankets for Robby.”
To Peter’s surprise, the woman who’d begged time and time again to be taken back to Bountiful didn’t appear glad to be getting her wish. Instead, she looked stricken. Surely her intense but odd response was on account of the boy’s injuries, right?
She couldn’t possibly have any interest in staying.
He glanced up briefly from his son and watched for a few seconds as she ran off. She cast glance after glance behind her. It would have taken a great deal of persuasion to convince him she’d only looked at his son, since a time or two those green, green eyes seemed to look straight at him.
He didn’t know what her actions might mean, but he had Robby to think of right now.
This wasn’t the time to ponder the possibilities.
Emma’s heart ached to where she feared it might shatter into a million tiny pieces. As she gazed at that small, still body, as she watched the blood flow from the deep, open gash on Robby’s high forehead, grief and guilt mingled inside her. She never should have allowed herself to roll on the ground with—much less kiss—the child’s father. She’d been assigned Robby’s care. Yet she’d failed…
… failed at the most critical task she’d ever attempted.
Unwilling to waste another second, she ran into the cabin, gathered up her cloak, just about her only belonging, together with a quilt and a pair of pillows for Robby, and then hurried outside again, as ready for their trip as she would ever be. A final glance back ripped a sob out from deep inside her.
Craziness, pure craziness! She would miss the rustic home… its residents even more.
Tears scalded her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to get help for the innocent victim of her irresponsible, wanton behavior. And she had been wanton. She couldn’t deny she’d liked being kissed by Peter. A secret, newly discovered part of her wanted him to kiss her again.
But reality couldn’t be changed. She should have been watching Robby.
The heat of shame flooded her cheeks. While she had grown fond enough of the camp, and especially of its residents, she couldn’t bear even the thought of facing Peter again. She couldn’t stand the thought of meeting Colley’s almost uncanny, perceptive stare. And she couldn’t imagine facing Robby, the child she’d let down with her careless—and if one was to believe Peter—rebellious refusal to listen to what he called reason.
But this wasn’t the time for recriminations. There’d be plenty of opportunity for those later on. This was the time to get Robby to the doctor, the time to care for the child she’d come to love. Time to do what she should have been doing in the first place.
As she ran to the barn, arms overflowing, she realized Wade had wasted no time either. By the time she arrived, Peter’s horse had already been hitched to the serviceable buttercream-painted wagon. As the rancher picked up his seemingly broken child, she caught sight of tears on the strong man’s cheeks.
Inside her chest, her heart felt squeezed, and she would have given much to run to his side and comfort him, encourage him. But she didn’t have that right. She was nothing to him, nothing but the woman who’d failed his son.
She had to do her best to help him… them.
At the wagon, she rose on tiptoe and dropped the cloak and bedding onto the wagon floorboards. Before Wade could offer help, she scrambled up inside, sat on the hard wooden bottom, and held out her arms for the boy. “Here,” she told Peter. “I’ll hold him still while you get us down to Bountiful.”
Every inch of Peter Lowery broadcast his reluctance to relinquish hold of his son, but there wasn’t much else he could do. He couldn’t guide the horse while he held his child.
Misery deep within her, she tried again. “Please…”
She saw the anguish on Peter’s face as he placed Robby on her lap, in the tender way he eased a dark curl off the boy’s brow, in the way he winced when that touch came close to the open wound.
Emma pulled her wits together. “It can’t be good for that to stay like that. We need something for the bleeding—”
“Here!” Colley yelled, running toward them. “Wade said the boy was bleedin’ somethin’ fierce. You hafta put this clean flour sack bandage on the gash then press down on it. And you press hard, missy. You hafta keep it from bleeding any more’n it has to.”
She recoiled. “But pressing hard will hurt him. Look how deep that is.”
Colley punched her fists onto her sturdy hips and glared up at Emma. “If you don’t do what I tellya, poor kid’s gonna bleed out. That’ll really hurt ’im, don’tcha think? Ain’t gonna be doing much recovering without blood, is he?” She paused. “Ah… but you’re scared, ain’t ya?”
Emma nodded, the tears pouring down her cheeks again.
Colley clamped her lips tight and shook her head. “Don’t you be scared, Miss Emma. You hafta be strong for ’im, for ’em both. Peter here wants to be with his boy, but he has to handle the horse. And him with that broken leg and all. You hafta do the right thing. Push hard on that bandage. It’s nice and clean, and the boy needs ya to help ’im until ya get to Doc Chalmers’s. Ya hear?”
Something about the insistence in the older woman’s rough voice pierced right through Emma’s fear. She found herself drawing strength from Colley’s urgency. And she remembered… she remembered the night Colley had revealed all those details of her life. The memories made Emma feel once again weak and silly and useless in comparison to the remarkable woman, and she knew she never wanted to feel that way again. She wanted to feel strong and capable and an asset to—to anyone.
For that to happen, Emma had to draw on her own strength and courage, especially at that moment. Not for her sake, but rather for Robby’s sake. And Peter’s. She swallowed hard and did as she was told.
Ned ran up to the wagon. “Miss Emma! Miss Emma! Y’almost fergot yer doggie. I brung her for ya. Here she is.”
He dropped Pippa inside the wagon, and the little white pup trotted up to Robby’s side, stared at his face for a moment or two, licked his dirt-streaked cheek, and then curled up at the boy’s feet. The two of them had become great friends in the short time Emma and Pippa had spent at the camp. If—no! When Robby came to, he’d be glad to have Pippa at his side.
But then, when Emma and her pet were on their way home to Portland again, why, the boy would surely miss the animal’s companionship. Still, she couldn’t let herself think that way. She had to think only of helping Robby recover from his wound.
The trip down the mountain meant almost constant bouncing and jouncing over the rough, rutted trails. The hard bottom of the wagon offered her no comfort, especially since she held Robby across her lap. While she had brought the quilt and two pillows with them, she’d used the much-folded blanket to provide the softest bed possible for the injured child. The pillows cushioned him on either side.
As frightened as she was, she did what Colley had told her to do. She kept a firm pressure on the flour sack bandage, and while she fought back the mental image of the wound, her thoughts kept returning to the frightening sight. Her curiosity bit at her, so much that by the time they’d traveled for an hour or so, she could no longer resist. She lifted a corner to check on the gash.
Scant seconds after she eased up on the pressure, the blood beaded up on the raw edges of the flesh. Immediately, the deep cut bled again. Colley had been right. Emma had to keep that pressure constant, all the way to town.
Up front, sitting high on the simple bench, Ned and Peter rode in absolute silence, neither man breaking the agonizing hush. Emma didn’t remember the trip from Bountiful to where she’d taken Pippa for her constitutional having taken this long. She must have dozed off for longer than she remembered.
Even though the silence grew more awkward by the minute, she preferred the discomfiture to any conversation with Peter. She couldn’t make herself meet his gaze. The memory of their kiss lived too vivid in her thoughts, and made the embarrassment too great for words. Perhaps it was best for her to return to Bountiful.
“Oh, goodness!” she said under her breath. Perhaps?
No, no. Of course it was best to return to town, to return to her normal life. Indeed. Papa needed to know she was fine. She couldn’t stay away even a moment longer than necessary.
But if that was the case, then why did she feel sudden emptiness at just the thought of leaving? After all, she’d wanted desperately to leave no sooner than she’d arrived.
Emma didn’t belong at the camp. She didn’t. That wasn’t the life for her. Her life was back in Denver, in Portland, at Papa’s side, or… oh!
Mr. Hamilton. Joshua Hamilton.
Her… fiancé.
First she went hot. Then she went cold.
She… she’d actually forgotten the poor man! How could she have? And after he’d given her the dog she loved so dearly, just so she wouldn’t forget him. What kind of woman did that make her? That she had scarcely thought of the man she intended to wed in those first days after the holdup, and then… nothing. She hadn’t spared him a single, solitary second after that.
Was she such a fickle-hearted fool? First, she’d accepted a man’s proposal. Then, she’d wound up on this mountain where she’d thought only of herself and the hardships she’d encountered.
She hadn’t thought of Joshua’s worry and grief.
Oh, goodness gracious. Hardships?
Hah! Hardly.
All she’d encountered was a way of life different from the one she’d known before. Hardship was what Colley had experienced, what Peter had gone through to carve out a life in a new land, to build a ranch, to create a heritage for his son, even after he’d lost the woman he loved.
And here she’d thought it a hardship to be rescued by a decent, God-fearing man, who’d taken her to his home, where his equally decent ranch manager had shown her how much a woman could do. She’d also learned how easy it was to love a child, one you hadn’t birthed yourself. In the meantime, she’d learned a number of skills she’d come to appreciate.
She was no longer the Emma who’d left Aunt Sophia’s house in Denver all of… how many weeks ago had it been?
Emma shook her head at her own silliness. It didn’t matter. She’d lost track of time while she became a brand-new woman; she’d stopped counting days. At the current moment, however, what really mattered was the child on her lap… and the man who’d made her look at herself and see her own flaws, her lack.
A pang of sadness struck her heart, and she bit her bottom lip. How could she not have known how frivolous she’d been? How foolish of her.
She had a lot of hours left until they reached Bountiful, a lot of hours to think about the girl she had been, the woman she’d become, and the one she would continue to grow into.
And that long ride gave her a whole lot of time to pray. She’d never keep growing if she turned away from the God she was coming to know.
“Oh Lord… don’t leave me now…”
“What have we here?” the white-haired woman said as she opened the door. When she saw Robby in Peter’s arms, she gasped. “Oh, no! Doc! Come down here right now. Hurry, you hear?”
Emma twisted her fingers, her anxiety growing worse by the minute. The lady’s reaction was alarming. What if…?
No! She couldn’t let herself contemplate such a thing.
“What in tarnation, woman?” a rotund gentleman with only a ruff of graying brown hair around the lower hemisphere of his head appeared on the stairs. “I told you I needed some sleep earlier, what with that McGarvey baby taking so everlasting long to birth last night, and today—”
“I’m sorry to come here at such a late hour, Doc,” Peter said. “My boy’s had an accident. We need you.”
The doctor’s eyes opened wide. “Never you mind a word I just babbled there, son. And the hour makes no never mind. Come on into my office straight away.”
Emma knew she didn’t have the right to follow, but no power on earth would have kept her from Robby right then.
“Put him over there.” The doctor indicated the leather-covered examination table. “From what I can see, he’ll be needing stitches. And some more than that, too, I reckon, but let’s see to stopping the bleeding first.”
Peter lowered the boy onto the brown leather. Worry carved lines on his brow.
“It’s quite deep,” Emma murmured, fearful for the boy. “And it has bled a great deal.” She stepped closer to the physician. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
The doctor looked her over. “Thank you, kindly, miss. I do appreciate your offer.” He crossed the room to the washstand and scrubbed his hands. As he dried them, he cast a glance over his shoulder. “My wife usually helps, seeing as she’s trained in nursing the ill. But, go on now, and tell me this. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to? As pretty as you are, I’d remember if I’d seen you before. I don’t reckon I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
“I’m Miss Emma Crowell,” she said. “From London, Denver, and Portland.”
The doctor’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose as he crossed to the examination table and lifted the flour sack bandage from Robby’s forehead. “You don’t say? And you’re in these parts because…?”
Emma took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Well, sir, a number of weeks ago I was on my way home to Portland after a visit to my auntie and uncle in Denver, when I was the victim of a holdup. A band of outlaws stopped our carriage—”
“Well, I’ll be a ten-toed rooster…” The doctor dropped Robby’s bandage back in place after a close scrutiny of the swollen, split flesh. “Everyone here in town’s heard all about you by now, I reckon. The reverend and his wife were beside themselves, distraught about your fate out there in the wilds and at the mercy of thievin’ outlaws. That poor driver, we couldn’t stop him from punishing himself over your loss. I mean, we all of us here in town thought you were a goner, what with outlaws not being known for taking kindly to meager pickings when they strike.”
As he talked, he picked up the gas lantern on his desk and brought it close to Robby. He lifted each of the child’s eyelids. When done with his examination, he set the light back in place, and then walked to a glass-fronted white-metal cabinet in the corner. He reached inside, evidently for supplies.
He kept up his end of the conversation. “So… Miss Emma—Crowley, you say?”
“Crowell, sir. Emma Crowell.”
“Miss Emma Crowell it is, then.” He crossed the room, his steps crisp against the highly polished wood floor. “Tell me all about your adventure, missy, while I sew up this boy.”
Peter cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. “Is that all you’re going to do for him? Sew him up and talk to Emma?”
The doctor stopped, his last step echoing in the heavy silence. “There’s not a whole lot a body can do for him until he comes to but to keep him right comfortable, clean up his wound, and suture it up, son. And pray.” He pinned Peter with a serious stare. “Pray a whole lot. Your boy needs the Great Healer to show up soon and heal him right quick.”
When he returned to the examination table, he held a small brown bottle in one hand and a couple of other items in the other, one of which was a shiny silver needle. Emma’s stomach lurched. The thought of that cold, sharp metal piercing Robby’s skin was too much for her.
Before she could brood too long over what was about to happen, the physician spoke to her again. “Tell me about that there holdup, missy. And how it is you came to wind up here at my house with Peter tonight. I say none of it makes much sense to me.”
As Emma recounted her experiences, she grew aware of a presence at her back. A glance over her shoulder revealed Ned, pale, lines of exhaustion on his lean and youthful face, concern in his muddy brown eyes. She gestured him closer.
The doctor noticed. “Now who might this be?”
Ned grimaced, spun his hat a full circle before his stomach with his big hands. “I’m one of them fools what held up Miss Emma’s carriage,” he said, shame in his droopy shoulders and morose face. “I’ve asked forgiveness, sir.” He shrugged, resignation dawning on his features. “I ain’t no fool. I reckon I’ll be havin’ me some time with the law, pretty soon now.”
Doc Chalmers turned to Peter. “Well, son, seems to me you’ve had your bonnet right full for a spell now, haven’t you?”
“Bonnet?” Peter tipped his mouth up into a twisted half-smile. “I reckon I would agree, Doc.”
“Seein’ as there ain’t much you can do here, Pete, hovering over your son, and all, why’n’t you head on over to the boarding house and fetch Adam Blair? He can handle your male guest here better’n I can.”
Peter looked at his son, immobile on the examination table. “But Robby—”
“There ain’t one blasted thing you can do for your boy right now,” Doc Chalmers said, his voice kind, his expression full of compassion. “Best thing for both of you is for you to keep yourself busy until he wakes. And like I toldja already, pray.”
“But—”
“Go, Pete,” Doc urged. “Go fetch Adam Blair.”
With reluctance in his every move, Peter headed out of the doctor’s office. The sound of the slamming front door echoed through the silent house. At her side, Ned sucked in a breath. Emma shivered, then turned her attention back to the still figure on the table.
“Could I stay here with Robby?” she asked the doctor. “It doesn’t feel right to think of him all alone. He is a little boy.”
He studied her a moment, then nodded. “You come with me, Ned. Let’s fetch the lady a decent chair here. Looks to me like she’s likely to sleep by the boy, and there ain’t a body what will talk her out of it. Might as well get her comfortable, and all.”
Ned opened his jacket, revealing Pippa hidden inside. “Here, Miss Emma. I kept her safe fer ya, but I reckon you’ll want her to keep you company. You and Robby, I mean. He does put a great deal of stock on that little dog of ya’s, doesn’t he?”
Tears filled Emma’s eyes, and she wasn’t sure if they were of gratitude for the young outlaw’s kindness, or of sadness at Robby’s plight, or… or… she didn’t know. And she didn’t dare look too closely at the cause, since she feared it might have more to do with the man who’d just walked out than she wanted it to.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re a good man, Ned. Remember that.”
“Aw, Miss Emma. You don’t know nothing ’bout me—”
“I know enough. It’s you who doesn’t—yet. I’ll be praying for you.”
That made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t argue against prayer. Emma was glad. She would indeed pray for him, and she would insist someone step up to help him before… before she left. A sob broke in her throat at the thought of her imminent departure.
She turned and walked to Robby’s side, her steps halting. How she had come to love this child so much in such a short time, she’d never know, she only knew that she did. And she wanted the best for him. The best would have to start with restored health. She would do anything to help him. She wanted the doctor to know that. And Peter, too.
She cuddled her dog close, seeking comfort, but finding less than she would have thought. Ever since the night Sawyer attacked her, she’d thought of Peter every time she’d needed strength, reassurance, and yes, comfort, as well. A dog didn’t have the same effect, no matter how dear.
It frightened her. She couldn’t come to lean on him, to reach for his solid, dependable presence, even if only from a distance, even if with nothing more than a look. He was beyond her reach.
Besides, even though she’d somehow, inexplicably, failed to keep their engagement at the forefront of her thoughts, Emma was promised to another man. She sighed. Yes, yes, yes. A man she’d only too easily forgotten since the moment the rancher had found her in the woods.
She had to examine that phenomenon.
But she didn’t want to.
The men returned to the office carrying an upholstered chair between them. “Here we are, Miss Emma,” Ned said. “Nice and soft, too. I checked.”
The doctor chuckled. “I’ll have you know, he did just that. Wanted to make sure it was good enough for you, young lady. Even after I assured him it would do quite well.”
As the men left, she settled in, the dog in her arms, a prayer on her lips. In the shadowy dimness of the room, since the doctor considered the lowered lighting better for Robby, the minutes seemed to fly by. Before she thought it possible, the front door opened again. Hushed male voices sounded in the entrance hallway. She heard Peter introduce Ned.
Emma stood and went to join the men.
“… I found her in a cave with the two of them,” Peter was saying as she approached. “Couldn’t leave her and that excuse for a dog of hers where they were, now could I?”
“No,” Emma said, head held high. “You weren’t about to leave me there”
The marshal nodded to her acknowledgment, then turned back to Peter. “You say you caught two of them. Where’s the other man?”
“He’s dead,” Peter said evenly.
The marshal raised a brow.
“Did you tell the marshal what Sawyer tried to do to me? That he…” Emma faltered, afraid she couldn’t go on. But she knew she had to. The law had arrived. It was the right time.
“Someone killed Sawyer out there in the woods,” Peter said before she could speak. “And we don’t know who.”