1882
Lampasas, Texas
Nineteen-year-old Emma Monroe watched the rain, like tears, make tiny splashes on the toe of her boot. Fascinating, wet patterns formed on the leather and offered a welcome distraction from the day’s events. At least the February rain hid the fact that she’d shed no tears...not a single one since Ma left them early yesterday morning. If she let one teardrop loose, she’d never stop the torrent that would follow.
The preacher droned words of comfort. Empty, bitter-tasting words, for there was no comfort to be had. Ma was dead.
Yes, she knew Ma was in a better place.
But she didn’t want her mother in a better place. She wanted her here. Now.
After several hours or minutes, she really couldn’t tell which, the small group of mourners dispersed in a rising flood of black lace veils and good intentions. Emma nodded and thanked each person with duty-bound politeness, but she just wanted them all to go away. To leave her and Pa and Lyndel alone with the mound of dirt under which Ma lay buried.
An expensive-looking pair of shoes stepped in front of her. All this mud would ruin that hand-tooled, imported leather. She knew the owner of those shoes even before looking up into Riley Stratton’s warm brown eyes. She’d heard he was back in town.
Instead of taking her hands, though, Riley wrapped his muscular arms around her and drew her into a tight embrace. He didn’t say a word, just held her against him, and it felt so good. For just that moment, she didn’t have to be the strong one. For just that moment, she could lean the weight of her emotions on someone else.
After a long time, Riley let her go, cupping her face in one hand before stepping away, invoking memories of a school-girl crush that best lay buried with the other dead things in this graveyard.
At last, her wish came true. She and her father and brother were left alone with their raincoats, a shared umbrella, and a muddy mound of grief. But the solitude was only temporary. Back at the house, there’d be church ladies and cigar-smoking men and makeshift tables laden with fried chicken and pie, as if that would somehow make up for the fact that their world had just stopped spinning.
Despite her best efforts, a single tear slipped down her cheek, across her chin and down her neck. She quickly shut the gate on the rest. Not here. Not now. Not with Pa and Lyndel on either side of her. They had enough grief of their own without adding hers.
“I suppose we should go. They’ll be waiting.” Pa’s voice sounded hollow and weak...weaker than normal.
“Who’s gonna iron my shirts?” Lyndel dug the toe of his boot into the mud.
Emma pulled him closer against her side. “I’ll do it.”
“Ma always got the creases just right.”
“I know. I won’t do it as well as she did, but I’ll try.”
They stood there, even though they should move toward the wagon. Sugar, their sorrel mare, whinnied, as if to remind them she was standing in the rain with no umbrella. Yet none of them could seem to find the will to put one foot in front of the other, to slosh away from the last remnant of the one person in each of their lives who brought sunshine and light and joy...the one person who made life make sense.
Finally, Pa cleared his throat and pressed his hand to her back, silently urging her forward.
And that was it. They walked away from Ma, or what remained of her, and left her with the skies weeping her passing.
Riley Stratton had known Emma Monroe since grade school, but he’d never hugged her. Why would he? It wouldn’t have been appropriate. But today, he hoped that simple hug said what words could not. He, unlike many of their age group, knew how it felt to lose a mother.
“What’s taking them so long?” Allison’s voice grated Riley from his thoughts. She strained to see down the road from her seat in the enclosed carriage. “It’s raining, for goodness’ sake. We gave our condolences at the funeral. Do we really have to wait forever for them to come home? We brought a cake. Isn’t that enough?”
You could be in the house with the other ladies, helping prepare the meal. But he didn’t dare speak the words. His sister-in-law was unpleasant enough without being challenged.
The fact that her own housekeeper and cook had just died caused Allison an enormous amount of grief, but not because of any sadness over the family’s loss. Mainly, she just wondered who would cook and clean for her now. The cake they’d brought was purchased from the Sweet Things Bakery in downtown Lampasas.
“They’ll be along soon enough.” Colt sat beside his wife and chewed on his pipe. “It’s good for us to be seen here. It helps our reputation with the townspeople. And we need all the help we can get, after Donnigan and his stunts.”
The tension in Riley’s jaw—from holding his tongue—found its way through his neck, across his shoulders, and down into his clenched fists. He had no desire to discuss their wayward brother, either. He’d rather be on the Monroes’ front porch with the other men, but since it was pouring rain and there were no more chairs, he was better off waiting in the carriage. He almost would have agreed with Allison and suggested they go on home, but he wanted to check on Emma one more time.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Sally Monroe. His mother’s best friend since childhood. The only person Mom had trusted to keep an immaculate house and a silent tongue. When Mom died, Mrs. Monroe stepped up as a surrogate mother, at least when Dad wasn’t around. She, more than anyone, made the loss of his mother bearable, the grief passable.
Now she was gone. It was his turn to return the favor by sharing the burden of grief with her family.
A clop-clopping from the road warned them the Monroes were nearly there, and Riley opened the carriage door and stepped onto the rocky path that led to the porch. He didn’t bother with Allison—that was Colt’s job. Instead, he opened his umbrella in time to assist Emma, then her father and brother.
“Thank you,” Emma mumbled before taking her father’s arm and guiding him through the maze of men to their front door. Her rigid neck and stiff back reminded him of their school days, when she’d try so hard to act like she didn’t care a whit that he’d just pulled her braids or let a mouse loose near her foot. Only today, her stubborn posture didn’t bring him any joy.
He rushed ahead of them to get the door, but someone in the crowd beat him to it. Pretty much everybody in town was here today...everybody but Riley’s own father, John Stratton. Dad begged off, saying somebody had to stay and take care of the ranch, but Riley knew better. They had plenty of ranch hands. Dad just didn’t want to have to be polite to Charlie Monroe.
Riley pushed through, nodding and speaking courteously to neighbors and acquaintances, trying unsuccessfully to avoid all the meaningless small talk that went on at these events. He arrived in the Monroe’s parlor just in time to hear Allison, with her tilted-up nose and her simpering voice.
“Oh, Emma, dear. I’m so very sorry for your loss. Is there anything we can do? Anything at all. You just say the word.”
“Nothing at the moment. Thank you, Mrs. Stratton.”
Allison leaned forward and lowered her voice. If Riley hadn’t been close enough to hear, he’d have thought Allison was offering whispered words of prayer and comfort. Instead, she said, “You know, dear. There is just no replacing your mother. But we do have an opening, if you’d like to fill her position.”
If ever Riley wanted to wallop a lady, it was now. Good gravy, couldn’t Allison wait until the grave was cold? He cleared his throat and stepped forward. “There you are, Allison. I believe Colt needs your assistance in the carriage. Go on. I’ll be along shortly.”
Allison gave him that you’ll-hear-about-this-later look, but didn’t say more. Instead, she did as he suggested and exited the crowded room.
“I’m sorry about that,” he whispered for Emma’s ears only. Her eyes found his, and he saw something both shallow and deep at once, like a boarded-up well of grief.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Stratton. Your sister-in-law was just trying to be charitable, I’m sure.”
“You’re as gracious as ever, Miss Monroe. Please...will you let me know if I can help you or your family in any way?”
She looked to the side, out the window, then down at her gloved hands. “Certainly. You’re very kind. Please, have something to eat. I don’t know what in the world we’ll do with all this food.”
Someone pulled her attention away, and he stood there looking after her, helpless to do anything that mattered, knowing all too well the tunnel of grief she must pass through before she found light again.
He felt a warm hand on his back, through his coat. “I appreciate your coming today, son. Sally always thought a lot of you.” Charlie Monroe looked small and weak, despite his better-than-six-foot stature.
Riley tried to summon a smile. “She was the best cook this side of the Mississippi. Probably the other side, too.”
“Yes, well…” The man’s lower lip quivered, and Riley looked away to give him a moment to regain control.
His eyes fell on Lyndel. Poor kid, sitting alone by the window, no longer a boy, not yet a man. Riley wasn’t much older when his own mother died. For Riley, this was the second mother he’d lost. But today wasn’t his day to mourn, as much as be a comfort to those who mourned more. Mourned deeper. Once again, he said the words...words loaded with sincerity but void of any power to relieve any hurt. “If there’s anything I can do, sir.”
“Thank you, Riley.” Mr. Monroe moved to the next person, and Riley debated whether or not to speak to Lyndel. Instead, he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and held it there a moment before moving toward the front door. He’d done all he could. It was time to go home.
Emma pulled the buggy to the side of the road to talk some sense into herself. Pa’s words played in her mind. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll find a way. You should be packing for Baylor Female College. It’s what your ma wanted for you.”
Yes, it was what Ma wanted...for years they’d talked and schemed and dreamed of the day Emma would become a teacher. They’d finally saved enough for tuition, and Emma was to leave for college this summer and begin classes in the fall.
But Ma wouldn’t have wanted Pa and Lyndel to be left behind with no one to take care of them. Pa with his bronchitis that seemed worse by the day. Lyndel only twelve years old.
No. Plans changed. She wasn’t going away to college and that was that. Where she was going, was to the Stratton Ranch. Ma had been gone two weeks now, and the bills weren’t going to pay themselves. Allison Stratton had offered her a job, and she was taking it. The wealthy Stratton family could afford to pay twice what Mrs. Wesson could pay at the seamstress shop. She wasn’t the cook Ma had been, and though she knew how to keep house, she didn’t have a clue about keeping a mansion. But she could learn.
She would learn.
She clicked to Sugar, and the buggy moved forward. Soon, she arrived in the big circle drive and stopped in front of the wide porch. As long as Ma had worked here, Emma had never been inside, but the outside always took her breath away. Thick, beveled columns flanked an elegant staircase leading to the front door. On either side of the entrance was a parlor-like grouping of white-painted wicker furniture, and Emma could picture the family gathered, sipping lemonade, laughing and dreaming like families do.
Riley grew up here.
No use entertaining thoughts of Riley Stratton. Hadn’t Ma said as much? Emma would never fit into his world of servants and power and more money than she could imagine. Everyone knew a Stratton would never be interested in a lowly farmer’s daughter. Ma had made it clear she and Riley were from two different upbringings.
Besides, charming as he was, he was also a scalawag...probably had a girl or three waiting back in Waco, pining for the day he’d declare his love.
She was only halfway up the steps when the door opened and Allison stepped outside. Her strained features fought with her pasted-on smile. “Emma...hello. May I help you?”
“I... Good morning, Mrs. Stratton. I was wondering if you’re still looking for someone to replace my mother. If so, I’m interested in the job.”
The transformation was stunning. Like clouds breaking to reveal a shimmery full moon, Allison’s eyes took on a glow, and the fakey-sweet smile turned almost genuine. “Really? You want the job? Come in. Can you start today? Let me take your coat.”
She led Emma into an elaborate foyer. The marble floors needed mopping, and a layer of dust coated the mahogany stair-rails, but the neglect couldn’t hide its grandeur.
A lump of anguish caught in Emma’s gut. These were the floors Ma had polished. The neglect...well, that was clearly the reason for Allison’s sudden burst of friendliness.
“Come in. Don’t mind the mess. I’ve been doing everything myself since...you know. And with little Davis cutting a tooth...and well, cooking has never been my strong point. I’m so glad you’re here!”
Allison chattered as she led Emma through a lavish dining room that still held remnants of last night’s meal. And possibly bits of last week’s meals, from the looks of the dried-on fragments left on the plates. A faint scent of burned toast lingered as they entered the kitchen, where more dirty dishes covered every flat surface.
“Of course you know, you’ll be expected to use the back entrance here.” The woman’s voice and attitude returned to typical Allison Stratton tone. “The carriage house is out back. Over here is the pantry, and out that door you’ll find the meat cellar. The icebox is down there, too.
“We’ll pay you a dollar a day, seven days. Please report at six each morning, and we’ll expect you to stay until you’ve cleaned up after dinner, which is served at six in the evening. Somewhere I have a copy of your mother’s cleaning schedule, I’ll see if I can get that for you. Oh, and I have Temperance Society meetings in town on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I’ll need you to watch Davis for me then, as well as some other times during the week.”
Emma’s thoughts buzzed like a bee in a trash bin. A dollar a day? Twelve-hour days? Seven days a week...and on top of it all, she was expected to provide childcare?
Her mother made twice that and had Sundays off. And she was home by six each evening. Allison prattled on, and Emma knew she should show polite deference. But she was tired. She hadn’t slept. And as much as she needed the work, she wasn’t about to let the likes of Allison Stratton treat her like a mindless lackey. Besides, from the looks of the place, Emma was in a pretty good position for negotiating.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stratton. I believe you meant to say two dollars a day? I’m just making sure I heard correctly.”
The prism of emotions that played across Allison’s face might have been entertaining under different circumstances. Shock, then anger, then icy indifference, all in a matter of seconds. “Two dollars a day seems a bit high for your level of experience, Miss Monroe.”
“I see. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time. Good day, Mrs. Stratton.” Emma pulled forth her sweetest smile, nodded graciously, and turned to leave, but not before a flicker of desperation and fear consumed the other woman’s features.
“Let’s not be hasty. I know you need the work, and as you can see, I need a housekeeper.”
Emma paused, schooled her features, and turned back around to face her would-be employer. “I realize I don’t have the years of experience my mother had. But her schedule wasn’t as demanding as the one you just put forth. And, she was only the housekeeper and cook. You’re in need of a nanny, as well.”
Allison opened and closed her mouth like a startled codfish. Then she tugged at her jacket and patted her hair. “I see. Well, I suppose you have a point. I’ll pay your rate. But I’ll expect you to earn it.”
Allison’s attempt at keeping the upper hand was comical, and Emma found she was enjoying herself immensely. She couldn’t wait to tell Ma about it.
But she couldn’t tell Ma.
“I’ll be here by six each morning,” Emma agreed, and Allison’s smug look of superiority returned. “I’ll stay until dinner is served and I’ve cleaned the cookware, but your meal dishes will have to wait until morning. On Saturdays, I’ll prepare a meal for Sunday lunch, but I’ll not work on the Lord’s Day. As for your son, I’ll be happy to watch him while you’re at your meetings, but at those times I may not be able to get all my other work done, so I assume you’ll be flexible on my duties, on those days.”
The glare Allison gave her could melt an Arctic iceberg. But Emma was no pushover, and though she was grateful for the opportunity to work, she could make $1.40 a day at the factory in town—not that she wanted to work in a sweatshop. But if she was going to put up with the likes of Allison Stratton, she would be appropriately compensated.
Davis chose that moment to let out a piercing wail, and Allison looked like she might melt, or explode, or some messy combination of the two. “Oh, all right. But can you please start now?”
Emma smiled in what she hoped was a gracious and humble manner. “Certainly. I’ll just need to see to my horse.”
With a curt nod, Allison bolted toward the sound of the child’s misery. Emma made a note to thank little Davis with an extra cookie, first chance she got.
Lost in waves of immense satisfaction, she turned toward the front entrance, only to run head-on into a wide expanse of chambray fabric, buttoned tightly at the chest. A slight tilt of her head revealed the shirt was attached to Riley Stratton.
“Well done, Miss Monroe. Although I fear you’ll be wasting your talents working here. With your bargaining skills, you’d be better off in a boardroom somewhere. Or a courtroom. You could be the town’s first lady lawyer.”
Emma’s face spiked with the heat of humiliation, though she had no reason to be embarrassed. She’d only done what was necessary to make sure she and Pa and Lyndel were properly cared for. Still, the idea that Riley had overheard her being so bold with his sister-in-law made her want to run and hide.
Instead, she took a couple of steps backward. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stratton. I wasn’t aware I had an audience. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to Sugar—my horse—so I can get started.”
To her mortification, he followed her out the front door like they were old chums. Which they were, sort of. But this wasn’t a school spelling contest or a game of stickball. She needed this job.
“I’ll take care of your horse and buggy if you’ll talk to me for a minute.” Riley’s voice hummed close behind her.
She lengthened her stride. “Thank you, Mr. Stratton. You’re very kind, but I can take care of Sugar myself. I don’t want to trouble you.”
Riley moved in front of her, blocked her path. “Look, Emma. Can we just lay aside the formalities for a minute? It’s me. Riley. The fellow you love to hate.”
That brought a little smile to her face, against her will. But she kept her eyes downcast.
“Look at me.”
He stood so close now, she could smell his scented shave lotion, and the musky smell made her uncomfortable in a most satisfying way. Tilting her head back, she did as he asked. Or was that a command?
“I just want to know how you are.”
She looked down again and moved to the side. She didn’t want to tell him how she was. Saying it out loud made it more real. “I’m doing as well as can be expected, I suppose. Breathing in. Breathing out. Then I breathe in again.”
“I understand.”
Yes, he did understand. She remembered all too well when Mrs. Stratton died. Riley had been just fourteen. Emma was eleven. He didn’t smile much for a whole year after it happened. But eventually, he became the same prank-pulling, mischief-making Riley, leaving a string of broken hearts in his wake. More subdued, perhaps...but time had healed his spirit some.
The way Emma felt now, she wasn’t sure that would ever happen for her. How could her spirit—shattered in a million pieces, crushed beyond repair—ever recover?
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Stratton...Riley. And I know that you of all people can appreciate what I’m feeling. But I really do need this job, and if I don’t get in there soon, I’ll be here all night washing dishes.”
He laughed, the deep belly laugh she remembered. The laugh that caused many a wide-eyed, lovestruck girl to make a fool of herself. Good thing Emma had always had the good sense to keep her feelings hidden.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he said. “We’ve left quite a mess in there. Well, you held up your end of the bargain by talking to me, so now it’s my turn. I’ll put your horse and buggy in the carriage house and make sure Sugar is fed and watered. Then I’m off to town. Good day, Miss Monroe.”
He bowed an overstated, sweeping dip that was more circus clown than gentleman, and moved toward the buggy.
“Thank you,” she whispered, but he probably didn’t hear.
She started to return the way she’d come, then thought better of it and walked around the house to the back entrance. She certainly hoped Riley Stratton would stay in town a long time. Because if the feelings churning in her gut were any indication, she’d have a hard time concentrating on any task as long as he was around. She may desperately need this job, but she needed Riley Stratton’s flirtations like she needed an abscessed tooth.
Riley watched Emma until she turned the corner, head up, shoulders back. His heart nearly split in two. Watching her like this brought back all the memories of his own grief, as fresh as if it were yesterday and not nearly eight years ago. He felt that vice on his gut, squeezing away his appetite. That familiar anvil pressed on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
But it was more than that. He wished he could make Emma understand...her mother had been there for him when no one else was. He grieved for Sally Monroe. Perhaps his grief wasn’t as deep as Emma’s, but it was real, just the same.
He’d be there for Emma and her family, just as Mrs. Monroe had been there for him. The fact that Emma’s eyes were the color of new spring grass, her hair the shade of sun-kissed wheat, and her dimples could coax a smile out of a bawling calf would only make his job more pleasant.
He climbed onto the buggy and clicked to Sugar, and his eyes fell on a lacey embroidered handkerchief. He picked it up, and the words stitched there caused his chest to tighten. “My daughter, my friend.”
She would surely want this. It must have fallen from her pocket, or that bag thing women carried...what was it called? A reticule. He folded it neatly and tucked it into his shirt pocket, then guided the horse into the carriage house.
Ten minutes later, he walked into the kitchen to find Emma elbow-deep in suds, with one corner of one countertop cleared. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“I thought you were going to town.” She pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, smearing bubbles in the process.
He wanted to reach out and set her hair aright, but he didn’t dare. What was his reason for coming here? Oh, the handkerchief. He pulled the cloth from his pocket and held it out. “I found this in the buggy. I thought you might want it with you.”
Her eyes grew large, and she reached into her pocket, only to find it empty. “Oh, my. Yes. Thank you.” She dried her hands on a nearby rag before taking the cloth and replacing it in her pocket.
“Your mother was always special to me…”
“Riley Stratton, I thought you left an hour ago!” Allison emerged from the shadows, and Emma jumped enough to nearly tip over the wash bucket. How long had Allison been standing there?
“I was detained.” Riley started to thrust his hands in his pocket, but instead forced them to his sides and stood a little taller. He would not give Allison the upper hand.
She looked at him, then at Emma, then back at him. “I see. Well, please don’t bother the help. We’re paying her a small fortune, and I for one want to make sure we get our money’s worth.”
Riley just stood there, looking at his sister-in-law. What in the name of good sense had Colt ever seen in this woman, beyond a pretty face and form?
Maybe that was the problem. Colt didn’t look past the surface. Well, one good thing would come of it. Riley would certainly never make that mistake. Not that Emma didn’t fit the bill in face and form. She possessed more elegance wearing an apron than Allison had in all her diamonds.
What did it matter? Emma was a friend. Nothing more. There was no way she could become a Stratton. Emma was pure. Strattons were tainted. Emma was diamond. Strattons were glass. It was the coat he wore, the mold he conformed to, like it or not.
Other than trying to make Emma smile, other than lifting her sorrow a bit, he needed to remove her from his thoughts. A connection between them could never work.
“Go on. Shoo.” Allison waved him away like he was a fly at a picnic. Emma went back to washing dishes as if no one else was in the room.
Riley held up his hands in surrender and headed for his office. The trip to town could wait. He had things to do right here, right now. Number one on his list...pay a stack of bills larger than Miss Monroe’s one-year salary. Number two...attempt to forget about Miss Monroe.
Number one turned out to be a far easier task.