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"I'm sorting the towels out. Some of them need mending and I thought I'd do that after lunch."
He began to ladle out the thick stew into the bowl in front of him. "What about my clothes? I thought you were working on that."
"I finished this morning."
"Already?"
"Yes."
"There was a huge pile."
"Yes, but very little work to be done on them. Just a small tear or a missing button on each."
"So now it's the towels, huh?" he grunted.
"Now it's the towels," she agreed and then added, "You don't mind do you?"
"Why would I care?"
"Will Maria mind?"
"Don't know why she would."
"Fine, then. The mending will keep me busy for awhile."
"Sit down and eat with me."
"I already ate."
"Then sit down and keep me company."
"I'm not close enough to keep you company, standing right here?"
"You always have to argue about everything?"
Emma looked up from the pile of dishrags and clashed with the brown eyes narrowed on hers. She gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders, poured herself a glass of cool water, and sat down at the table where she had sat when they played poker.
"Is that better?"
He only grunted again and picked up his spoon and began eating.
"How's Jesse?"
He swallowed and took a drink of water. "He's better. The fever's gone. Luckily, he was only grazed. It could have been much worse."
"That's good. Does Maria need my help? I can relieve her for awhile, sit with Jesse while she rests?"
"Nah. Cody went in at dawn and let her get some sleep." He continued to eat as he watched her across the table.
"Well, all right then."
He changed the subject. "Stew's good. You can cook," he said in a tone that held some surprise.
"And you're just simply amazed by that fact, is that right?" her words held humor, but were tart all the same.
He studied her for a moment, his eyes going from the top of her head, dropping to her face, and then down to her breasts before landing on her eyes again. "Emma-girl, nothing about you surprises me anymore."
"Is that a good thing or a bad one?"
"It's a good thing. Don't care much for surprises, good or bad."
Emma didn't answer but just sat quietly while he ate his meal. When he was finished, he scraped back his chair and put his hat back on his head, then moved to stand over her. He raised her chin and her eyes lifted to his. "You cook real nice, Emma." His gaze held hers in a piercing stare. "Pretty face, sweet disposition." His voice was low and deep as his thumb ran back and forth over her lips. "Yep," he said as if he were talking to himself, "never had sweeter kisses. If a man could trust you to do as you're told--" His words dwindled off as he leaned down and carefully placed his lips on hers. He gave her one soft kiss and then stepped back and walked to the door. "I'll be back late, Emma. Best not wait up for me."
Emma had just enough energy left after that devastating assault on her senses to ask one question. "Was that the third kiss I owe you?"
His eyes blistered hers. "Not a chance in hell, sweetheart."
And he walked out the door.
****
Emma spent the rest of the day baking and sewing. After his indirect reference to his reminder that she needed to obey his dictate of staying in the house, she did. With the recent memory of the snakes in mind, and his delayed promise of riding to soothe her, it took very little self-discipline to do as he asked.
She had something to keep her busy and she didn't feel like a prisoner at the moment.
She finished her chores rather quickly, and decided to take the opportunity of the added privacy his absence brought to take a bath. She heated enough water, secured the bolts on the door just in case, and enjoyed the luxury of a full bath. She washed her hair twice and scrubbed every inch of her body.
She spent a long time combing out her long hair and drying it with a towel as she sat in her nightgown in the big, over-stuffed chair in her bedroom.
She'd already left Luke a plate of food on the table, and now she rested back in her seat, the sound of crickets coming from outside her window where the moonlight filtered through.
****
Luke had already taken the time to eat the plate of food that Emma had left out for him before he went to find her.
It was late and he didn't call her name in case she was already asleep.
He found her sound asleep in the chair, her hair softly curling around her face, the damp towel draped across her lap, and her white eyelet nightgown a backdrop to her soft beauty that was beginning to be an addiction he couldn't fight against.
He slipped into the room and shut the door quietly behind him, stood with his back to it, and watched her sleep. Her allure was beguiling; the quiet prettiness of her face had crept up on him and seized him before he could muster any defense against it.
If she was any other woman, he knew he'd be tempted to keep her. But she wasn't. He had to remind himself again that she was small and weak and had a disadvantage aside from all that. No, he couldn't keep her. He tried to placate himself with the knowledge that soon, very soon, she would be his lover.
But it didn't do much to assuage the possession running through his veins. He wanted to keep her and he just managed to stop short of cursing his Maker for not letting it be possible.
He couldn't be that selfish.
He'd be thankful for this time they had together, and make the most of it.
She made a restless movement and the moonlight spilling into the room gave him just enough light to see the material of her nightgown stretch taut over her breasts. He could see the outline of her nipple, or maybe he just imagined it in his mind, but his reaction to it was the same. He was tantalized by the sight, and his jeans grew snug as his erection grew and pressed against his fly.
He inhaled sharply and tried to calm the wild beat of his racing heart.
When had he ever wanted a woman as much as he wanted Emma?
The answer came easily to him. He hadn't. He'd wanted sex, he'd wanted an orgasm, but he'd never wanted a certain woman. Always in the past, a warm, willing, female body would do. But he was sorely afraid that he'd have to go for the rest of his miserable life wanting Emma.
The husband she used to have was both a godsend and a curse to him. The man that went before him made it possible for Luke to have Emma's body now, the absence of her virginity meant that he wouldn't have to seduce an innocent when that went against his code of honor. But the dead man was also a curse, a curse because Luke had a vicious, burning jealousy that someone else had touched her. He didn't blame her, for whatever reason, he blamed himself, as if he should have found her in an earlier time, even though he rationally knew that hadn't been possible.
He was torn up by his feelings. Lacerated by emotions that ran the gamut between being relieved she'd come into his life, and cursing the universe for allowing him to hold her and taste her when he couldn't keep her. He'd forever be damned with her memory and the knowledge that she was out there in the world, out there with some other man who had the right to hold her, touch her, support her as his own.
He hissed in a breath at the obscene thought of someone else having the right to sink into her body, feel her close around them, and know what she smelled like, tasted like, sounded like, when she came.
The noise he made must have roused her, because she sat up on the chair and slowly focused her eyes on the door and must have realized he was in the room with her.
She gasped softly. "Luke?"
"Yeah."
"Is everything all right?"
"Yeah."
"What time is it?"
"Half past eleven."
"What--what are you doing in my room?"
"Come to collect."
"Collect?"
"My goodnight kisses, remember?"
"Kisses?" She stress
ed the plural.
"You think we're gonna stop at just one?" he challenged her.
