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  Cruel was asking her to leave the only home that had ever truly been hers. Making a choice like that would rip her heart in two. The very thought of it made her stomach queasy. She cared about Matt, more deeply than she had ever cared for anyone, but her four walls were her dream come true.

  Without a doubt, between the two of them, Matt was the cruel one.

  Emma dropped a dab of grease into the frying pan heating on the stove. She watched it pop and turn clear, spreading thinly over the black bottom of the skillet.

  It might be only days until he left. She would have to hurry and make the new dress she had promised Lucy.

  Or take her good time. But that would make her selfish. With death riding into town, Matt would have to go, and soon.

  * * *

  With a full day of chores stretched out before him, Matt stepped out of the dugout. The moon had set but stars still dotted the dark sky—the same ones that had twinkled on Emma’s bare skin the whole night long.

  A coyote howled far out beyond the creek. Matt’s boots crunched the dried-out earth when he walked toward the well, but other than that, all the world slept, silent and still.

  All the world but Emma, that is. He watched her through the window while he approached the well. She still had on her party dress and hadn’t yet done up her hair. Even from this distance he could see a sprig or two of grass wedged in with the curls.

  She had to be mad as a pistol at him for asking her, again, to give up the thing most important to her.

  Watching her move about the kitchen, turning something over in the skillet and stir something else, made his heart trip up inside him.

  This was the woman most men only dreamed of. What man in town wouldn’t give his best boots to be able to stand here in the dark and watch while she opened the oven door and slid in something to be baked?

  Which one of them wouldn’t give half a lifetime to be offered her body? Was he ten times over a fool not to take what she clearly wanted to give?

  Matt lowered the bucket into the well and drew it up again full of fresh, morning-crisp water. He dumped some over his head, then shook it to clear out the image of Emma lying chaste but naked beside him.

  He’d longed to taste her flesh when the moon had spun its magic on it. And now, again, when the heat from the stove blushed her cheeks pink.

  Matt shrugged on his shirt, then tied his bandanna around his neck. He’d better feed the horses before his thoughts got the best of him. In another second he might find himself bursting through the kitchen door to take his wife right there on the table that she was cleaning with a soapy cloth.

  If he had half as much sense as Red, which wasn’t much these days, he’d say goodbye tomorrow. The house was finished and there was no longer anything to hold him here.

  He ought to give her a long, hard kiss farewell first thing after chores. He’d do it for sure, if Emma hadn’t promised to make Lucy a new dress.

  * * *

  “Mama Emma, when will you make my new dress?”

  Emma lifted Lucy to the seat of the wagon, then checked to make sure Red had loaded the large bucket and the small one in the back along with four barrels of water.

  “Not today. It might take most of the afternoon to get the trees watered.”

  It had been ten hot days since the last rain. If she didn’t make the effort to water the saplings by hand they would dry out more quickly than the petticoat pinned on the clothesline.

  As far as she could see, the sky stretched away with as pure a blue as she’d ever seen. The appearance of a big black cloud would be welcome. How many hours of work wouldn’t a good downpour save?

  “Well, then.” Emma gathered up her skirt in one hand and grabbed hold of the wagon’s wooden seat with the other to pull herself up. “I suppose new Mr. Hoppety Tree is ready for a good long drink, don’t you?”

  “Maybe after that he’ll grow an apple.”

  “A big fat red one,” Emma pronounced cheerfully to cover the sorrow that nipped at her heart knowing that Lucy wouldn’t be here to eat that apple.

  Emma clicked to the team. They turned toward the barn door, then set out at a slow pace toward the grove of tender young trees.

  “Step carefully, ladies. We don’t want to overturn the water.”

  “Do horsies know words?”

  “Maybe one or two.”

  “Fluffy and Princess know lots of words.”

  “They don’t know stay outside,” Emma pointed out.

  Lucy sighed and spread her palms. “They know it—they just don’t like it.”

  Emma touched Lucy’s chin and lifted her face. “It’s your job to make them like it.”

  “Just like you make me like to wear a bonnet?”

  Hopefully, Lucy would have more luck. Emma tugged and straightened the pink bow under the child’s chin. “Yes, something like that.”

  “They won’t—oh! Mama Emma, look!” Lucy bounced up and pointed her finger at a fat red cow. “A cow got inside the fence!”

  Cut again! Lands, Lawrence Pendragon was a persistent man. Did he think he could wear her down with a snip of wire?

  At least only one cow had gotten through and hadn’t noticed yet how sweet and green the young trees were.

  “Wait here in the wagon, baby, while I shoo the pesky thing away.”

  With each step she took, parched grass cracked underfoot. Far off, the baked horizon shimmered in waves of dry heat.

  Luckily the bovine didn’t need more than a well-placed whack with a shovel on its rump to set it scurrying for the open range.

  Emma lifted Lucy from the front of the wagon, then set her down in the back.

  “Take the little bucket and fill up the big one for me,” she said. “We’d better get this finished soon so that Papa or Uncle Billy can come back and mend the fence before supper.”

  “Okay, Mama.” Lucy filled her bucket three times, dumping it into the big one.

  Emma lifted the large pail with both hands. The weight of it cut the iron handle into her palm. After watering only five trees, her dress had begun to stick to her sweating skin.

  Red welts chafed the creases of her palms. She’d have to hide them from Matt since he’d use her aching hands as proof that she needed a husband to take care of the heavy work.

  All she really needed was to remember to bring along Matt’s big leather gloves.

  “Can my new dress be blue?”

  “Blue with flowers, or pure blue?” she called over her shoulder, nearly breathless as she dumped the water into the dirt well ringing a sapling.

  A hired man to work the place might be a good idea, although he’d probably expect to be fed on a daily basis. A husband, even a hungry one, wouldn’t require a salary.

  “Blast,” she muttered under her breath. She wouldn’t come around to that way of thinking, no matter how much less it would cost. At least a hired man could be let go when she didn’t need him anymore, and he wouldn’t expect to sleep in the house.

  “Blue with apples.”

  It might take some time to find blue apple fabric. The thought snuck up from the back of her mind and pleased her before she had a chance to think better of it.

  Precious time that she could use to adjust to Matt’s leaving. She could use it to soak up the sight of him sitting tall on Thunder’s back, the way he did early each morning, looking out over the homestead as if he was judging what kind of day it might be. Most times he turned to look at her standing on the porch with a grin shining on his face.

  Matt loved this life. It showed in his smile and the flash of sudden humor that came to him all at once for no reason that she could think of. Any time of day she heard it in his song, whether he sang to the horses or the nail he was hammering into a fence.

  If she took each stitch of Lucy’s dress nice and slowly she would have time to dream about what it would be like if he came to her in the night.

  Precious time, but dangerous.

  Each moment that Matt delayed his departu
re brought Hawker closer. And delay was far too easy.

  It had been his idea, a week back with Lucy sitting on his lap, rocking beside the fireplace while Emma mended his shirt, that she should sew the child a new dress before the trip to San Francisco.

  She’d been to town since then, twice, and each time she’d “forgotten” to purchase the fabric for the dress. Maybe it was because the sewing of that dress was the last promise to be kept. It was the only thing holding Matt here.

  What foolishness. They both knew the dress was an excuse. She was the one holding Matt here. She and the home they were building…together.

  She could see him now far in the distance, clearing the firebreak with Billy.

  Emma closed her eyes and tried to picture a new house in San Francisco. She had never lived in a big city; neither had Matt. Maybe she ought to consider it. If she agreed to go, they might all be safe…and homesick.

  More foolishness! Her roots were here, deep in her own soil.

  Fanciful feelings aside, she wanted him to go…truly. It had been her plan all along—they’d agreed to it.

  With half a breath of encouragement, and a kiss for luck, Matt would stay and take his chances with Hawker. He’d made that clear on the night of the party, but she would end up as dead as Matt with the guilt of his murder on her heart.

  Emma brought the bucket back for Lucy to fill again.

  “After the noon meal tomorrow, I’ll go find you some blue apple fabric.”

  This would be the quickest dress she’d ever made. The times were precious and dangerous—she couldn’t do a thing to change that. But she wouldn’t make them selfish times.

  To keep Matt from staying beyond what was safe she’d sew until her fingers grew raw.

  Chapter Ten

  Emma glanced up from a blue-checkered bolt of fabric to see the young shopkeeper at Rath and Wright’s staring at her.

  His gaze slid away as though he had caught her doing something embarrassing.

  She would have liked to think that his behavior was odd, but no less than six others had given her the same look. From Lulu Frolic hanging feather-clad over the balcony of Mollie’s Palace to the prim Harold Goodhew herding his group of students up the schoolhouse steps, those half-lidded glances had been the same.

  Had some scorching rumor been started over Woody Vance’s attention toward her? In a town like Dodge where life was lived to its most colorful, a common flirtation hardly seemed remarkable.

  Emma gave her full attention to the display of cotton fabric set before her. As she had suspected, there was not a combination of blue and apples. The blue check would be sweet, though, and she could embroider the apples around the collar.

  Emma carried the blue-checkered bolt to the counter. She’d buy plenty so that Lucy could grow a bit in it.

  “I’d like a package of that red embroidery thread behind the counter, too.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The clerk cut the fabric, folded it in a neat bundle, then placed the red thread on top.

  During the transaction he’d gone from staring at his hands to watching out the window as though a new customer were about to come through the door with a wheelbarrow full of money to spend.

  Strange that he seemed to look everywhere but in her eyes.

  “You have a fine day, Efran,” she said, turning toward the door.

  “Yes, ma’am…you, too, Mrs. Suede.”

  The young clerk was certainly fidgety about something, but chances were it had nothing to do with her. She’d never been the kind of person to draw much attention and very likely those odd glances were just that…odd.

  Outside on the boardwalk, the wind picked up her skirts and snapped them against her calves. A horse tethered at the hitching post sneezed at the dust stirred up from the street. It shook its mane and pawed the ground.

  Apparently the animal didn’t like the low moan of the wind racing around the eaves of the porch. The poor beast seemed as tense as the store clerk.

  It was certainly an odd day in Dodge. Thank goodness Pearl was boarded at Jesse’s livery for the afternoon where she wouldn’t pick up on the feeling that something was not quite right.

  Emma tightened the bonnet straps under her chin when the wind bucked against it. She clutched the goods for Lucy’s dress to her chest and leaned into the gust.

  If only it would rain. Everything felt dried out. A body could practically hear the ground cracking and crying out for moisture. And her skin! What wouldn’t she give to fill her lovely bathtub with butter and cream and soak the afternoon away?

  The indulgent thought nearly made her laugh out loud. The afternoon was slipping away as it was. As soon as she delivered a bottle of Orange Lilly to Rachael Sizeloff it was off to home and preparing a bit of supper for the men and Lucy.

  Bathing in buttermilk, indeed! If the thought was wayward, the picture that popped into her brain and slowed her steps was positively wicked. Wouldn’t Matt be distressed if he could see the two of them in her mind, rolling about in the tub wearing nothing but cream?

  From a block away, she spotted Joseph Sizeloff sweeping the steps of the church. His vest slapped against his shirt in the wind and Emma wondered why he bothered with sweeping when what dirt he managed to clear away was immediately blown back in place.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Sizeloff. Is Rachael inside?” Emma was forced to shout over the deviltry that swirled from every direction at once. “I’ve got her Orange Lilly.”

  “You missed her by ten minutes. Little Maudie needed a nap and she’s got to prepare the sermon for Sunday.” He set the broom against the rail of the church porch, but it blew over with a clatter and scrape. “Come on inside for a minute and get out of this wind. There’s fresh coffee on the stove.”

  “I’m off for home, but I could do with a cup before I head back, thank you.”

  Before she set foot on the third step, Joseph Sizeloff’s smile sagged under his mustache. He gazed past the top of her head, looking at the stretch of prairie with a frown.

  Stepping onto the highest stair of the porch, she smelled the trouble that Joseph had spotted so far off.

  Smoke! It tickled her nose, then blew away with the next gust of wind.

  “Prairie fire,” he murmured.

  Emma stretched up on her toes trying to spot the flames, but all she saw was black smoke coming up from the ground, like a thundercloud settled to earth.

  “I’ll have to pass on the coffee.” Emma turned to dash down the steps. “I’ve got to get home before the fire cuts off the road.”

  “Hold on there, Mrs. Suede.” He caught her elbow. “It’s best you stay with Rachael and me tonight. With the way the wind’s pushing the fire, you’d never make it. By morning it will have moved on and the ground cooled enough for your horse to get you safely home.”

  “But I have to get there now. What if my house burns down?” By the second, the smoke grew blacker. It billowed higher in the sky and the scent of it no longer blew away. “If anything happens they’ll need me.”

  “From the direction that the wind is blowing now, it ought to cut right between your place and town. Your house should be safe enough. Wait just a minute while I bank the stove inside, and I’ll walk you back to our place.”

  “I hate to put you out.”

  “You won’t be in the way. Rachael will be glad to have a new ear to practice Sunday’s sermon on.”

  “Well, then, I’d be pleased to stay with your family this evening, but there’s no need to leave before you intended. I know the way and I need to make a stop at the livery to let Jesse know that Pearl will be staying the night.”

  “All right, then. Tell my wife I’ll be along in about an hour.”

  By the time Emma had bid Joseph Sizeloff goodbye and walked halfway to the livery, ash had begun to filter from the sky like dirty snowflakes.

  A woman came out of the bakery and looked up at the sky with her apron held over her nose and mouth. A big red dog leaped out of a wagon hitched in front
of the bank. It ran in circles barking and making the horses nervous. A man dashed outside and opened his mouth to scold the dog, but when he saw the ash coming down he whistled and motioned for the dog to get back aboard. He jumped up on his wagon and urged his team out of town at a lumber-creaking pace.

  All up and down the street windows slammed closed and doors banged shut. The slap of wood on wood and the nervous call of voices echoed over town.

  Near the railroad, cattle bawled in the stock pens. The poor beasts didn’t know that a wide firebreak had been maintained all around the town. Even if the flames came close enough for Dodge to be in danger of flying embers, folks would be on the lookout. Already the baker had set out four pails of water on the boardwalk.

  The town wasn’t likely to catch fire. From what Emma could see, the flames were miles outside town. It was only the wind blowing in the smoke and ash that made the danger seem so immediate.

  Surely Rachael’s husband had been right about the fire not burning her home. She would make herself believe it and not go running through a blazing prairie fire thinking she could save the place. As much as she loved her home, she wouldn’t risk her safety and that of Pearl to watch it incinerate before her eyes.

  Matt, Billy and Red had been diligent about keeping the firebreak cleared. Emma snuffed out her worry. She tucked it in the back of her mind and looked forward to an evening with Rachael’s family. Certainly, tomorrow morning she would find her home as intact as she had left it today.

  An acrid wind whistled down the street and pushed Emma’s bonnet into her eyes.

  “Blast!” She shoved it back with the fingers of one hand and gripped her fabric tight to her chest with the other. “Cursed wind!”

  If only there had been room in her purse for the Orange Lilly as well as the material, her progress toward the livery would have been quicker. As it was, she had to stop every third step to pull the dratted bonnet into place. If it hadn’t been for the ash so thick in the air she would have let it flap behind her.