A Secret Fire (Western Historical Romance) Read online

  Emma stood there, her mouth dropping open like a trout in the Thundercreek River. Was he insinuating…Could he have been talking about…No. She shook her head. She had only imagined it. Best to put it from her mind.

  However, when she descended the stairs, she nearly lost her footing again as the man’s sultry eyes came into her mind. The nerve of some men. She’d barely met him! Shameless flirt, she thought as her lips betrayed her with a smile.

  ***

  Thatcher grinned, satisfied as he shut the door behind him. He walked to his bed on the right side of the room and sat down on the brown patchwork quilt, setting his hat next to him. Letting out a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck. It felt good sitting on something other than rocks and a saddle. He looked up to see James watching him from the bed opposite his.

  “What?” Thatcher asked innocently.

  James eyed him. “You know what.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout.” Thatcher raised his eyebrows and removed the smile that had been put there when that beautiful woman’s cheeks blushed red.

  James shook his head as he took his boots off one after the other.

  “What do you think you’re doin’?” Thatcher asked as James placed the boots beside the bed and stretched his legs out.

  “What does it look like I’m doin’?” He crossed his legs at his ankles and placed his hands behind his head. “I’m goin’ to take me a little doze ’fore suppertime.”

  Thatcher’s eyebrows furrowed together as he stood, towering over him. “Oh no, you ain’t. You just put those darn boots right back on, little brother. We’re goin’ over to the land office ’fore it closes tonight.”

  Picking up the boots, Thatcher tossed them at James’s legs, but James only kicked them back onto the floor. “I’m dragged out, Thatch. I ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til I get me some sleep.”

  “You lazy coffee boiler,” Thatcher mumbled under his breath as he plopped back down on the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around the room decorated with pink rose-print wallpaper. “What am I supposed do ’til then, stay in here all day and stare at the flowers? A man could become less of a man in here, you know.”

  “’Course not, Thatch. Just go downstairs and talk to that pretty little filly of yours.” He nuzzled deeper into the soft bed.

  “She ain’t mine, James.” He glared at his younger brother. A fleeting thought came of a woman as beautiful as Miss Emma Marchant actually belonging to him, but he simply shoved it aside, frustrated that the idea had made his heartbeat faster.

  “Well, you were starin’ at her like she was.” James opened his eyes and smiled knowingly at Thatcher, raising one brow.

  “Shut your trap.” Thatcher stood again and paced the length of the small room, his spurs ringing against the hardwood floor. He had been staring, but in his defense, she was staring right back.

  “Will you stop your pacin’ and just go down there already?” James laughed as Thatcher threw a pillow at his face. “Oh come on, brother. It ain’t that hard. Just go do some more of that flirtin’ you were doin’ earlier.”

  “I wasn’t flirtin’.” The instant the words came out of his mouth, he knew they were a lie. He was downright flirting with her.

  He tried to distract himself from thoughts of the woman by watching people below in the streets through his window, but he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering.

  When he had walked into the Marchant Inn behind James, his heart had almost stopped as he caught a glimpse of the beautiful, blue-eyed woman with a purple wildflower tucked behind her ear. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Never had a woman caused such a reaction, and it scared him, though he wouldn’t admit to it. Yes, it was probably best to just ignore the shy, good-looking woman or something bad was bound to happen.

  Yet, as Thatcher saw Miss Emma Marchant walking across the street from the inn with Mrs. Marchant, his heart involuntarily skipped a beat. He thought of the way he had spoken to her before and how her cheeks had blushed a deep red. Never had he teased a woman like that. He usually steered clear of women all together, not go out of his way to be noticed by one. He smiled as he thought of the way her dimples had appeared when his horse had been mentioned.

  Thatcher watched as the women walked down the street and then disappeared into the building marked “Reilly’s Livery and Blacksmith Shop.” Why are they goin’ in there? he thought.

  Shaking his head, he realized he was thinking of her again. He looked away from the window and back to the pink roses on the wall. The room was already taking a toll on him. Maybe a walk would do him good. Some fresh air was all he needed. Then he would think no more on this Emma Marchant.

  “Where’re you goin’?” James asked as Thatcher opened the door and stepped out.

  “I’m takin’ the horses to the livery, get them situated and all. I’ll be back ’fore supper.”

  And with that, Thatcher shut the door before he could change his mind.

  ***

  Emma smiled as she approached her bay mare, watching as the horse turned towards her in the small stall inside the livery stables. She stroked the mare’s neck and felt the strong muscles underneath her hand. “How are you, Spitfire?” Emma whispered to her beloved horse. “Sorry it’s been a while. I’ve just been busy, you know?”

  “She’s a real beauty, Em,” Eliza said, reaching across the stall and petting the horse’s forelock.

  The horse nickered, and Emma smiled again, nodding in accord. She entered the stall and said, “You want to help brush her down?”

  “Naw, you go on ahead. I’m goin’ to wait for Papa,” Eliza said, craning her neck right and left to look down the aisle. “He should be ’round here somewhere.”

  Emma nodded and shut the waist-height door behind her. Grabbing a stiff brush, she stroked her horse’s body from top to bottom, trying to focus on anything but the man who had completely unraveled her stability. The brown horse hair reminded Emma of a pair of eyes that wrinkled at the sides, the muscles of Spitfire’s legs brought to mind broad shoulders and large biceps, and the low sounds the horse was making from the pleasure of being brushed brought back the sound of a certain deep voice that had recently resonated throughout her ears.

  “Sakes alive,” she said, exasperated. She rested her head on the horse’s neck and sighed. “I’m hopeless.”

  She heard Eliza laugh at her dramatics. “Why are you hopeless, Em?”

  “I don’t know, Liza,” Emma said, shaking her head back and forth against the horse. “I just don’t know.”

  She rested there awhile longer, breathing in the scent of her horse. The smell always calmed her down, just like it had done for her mother, Jenny Marchant. Whenever her mama was upset or something was bothering her, she’d make it a point to be near horses. She always told Emma, “There’s somethin’ ’bout horses that calms a person down, no matter how frustrated, confused, or distraught she may be.”

  She smiled at the thought, and a twinge of sorrow pierced her heart. She missed her. She missed them both.

  “Sure you know, Emma,” Eliza said. “It’s ’cause that handsome cowboy just walked into your life, and it isn’t ever goin’ to be the same now.”

  Emma looked up to her sister and friend. She was right. “He is just so darn handsome!” she exclaimed, letting out a sigh.

  “Don’t I know it!” Eliza agreed, giggling. “And the way he was flirtin with you? My goodness, it was gettin’ me to blushin’!”

  Emma smiled, flustered still at the memory. She was about to tell her what Thatcher had said regarding his appetite but decided against it, continuing to groom Spitfire instead. “I don’t even know why I’m actin’ so ridiculous. He’s just a man, for pity’s sake.”

  Eliza looked at her dubiously. “Honey, if he’s just a man, then every other male out there is just a ragged, homeless dog.”

  They burst into a fit of giggles, just like they had when they were girls.

  Emma looked dow
n the aisles, making sure no one was there to hear her, and then in a whisper she said, “Did you see the way he walked in? I thought that swagger was goin’ to do me in!”

  “And he was watchin’ you the entire time, Em!”

  She instantly shook her head. “No he wasn’t, Liza.”

  “Emma Marchant,” Eliza said, scowling as she placed her hands on her hips, “how dare you call me ridiculous. You know he was watchin’ you and don’t even deny it!”

  Laughing, Emma said, “Okay, okay, fine. I believe you.”

  Eliza smiled. “He just couldn’t take his eyes off of you!”

  Emma could only giggle, pleased that she hadn’t imagined the attention he had been giving her.

  They both looked down the aisle then as they heard boots sounding on the hay-covered floor, along with the jingling of spurs.

  Mr. Reilly, Eliza’s father, came into view, and the handsome Thatcher Deakon was right behind him, leading two horses to the stalls next to Spitfire.

  “Well, hi there, darlin’. Miss Marchant,” Mr. Reilly called to his daughter and neighbor. “Didn’t know you two was back here.”

  “Hi, there, Papa,” Eliza said, giving her father a side hug, her stomach not fitting any other way.

  Mr. Reilly smiled joyfully. “Have you met Mr. Thatcher Deakon here?” He released Eliza for a moment to help Thatcher lead the horses to their respective stalls.

  “Yes, Mr. Reilly. Mr. Deakon is stayin’ with us at the inn with his brother,” Emma answered, daring a glance towards Thatcher.

  She watched him as he closed the stall door behind him, and her stomach fluttered when he turned around, smiling directly at her, his chocolate eyes not once moving from her face.

  “That’s good to hear,” Mr. Reilly said, closing the other stall door securely. “Well, Thatcher, if you need any more help, you just come by and holler. I’ll be here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Reilly,” Thatcher said, shaking the man’s hand firmly. “I appreciate it.”

  He looked once again to Emma, and when no one moved to speak, Eliza said, “Papa, I was wonderin’ if you could help me.”

  “Sure thing, honey,” he said, linking his arm with his daughter’s. “What is it?”

  “I just have a few questions for you. Maybe you can answer them while we take a walk outside?”

  Mr. Reilly smiled. “Of course!” He looked to Emma and Thatcher and said, “If y’all excuse us.”

  Emma nodded courteously but stared in horror at Eliza, who had an innocent grin etched on her face. Emma didn’t know what to do with herself when she was alone with a man. Especially one who was a handsome flirt like Mr. Thatcher Deakon!

  Thatcher nodded to father and daughter and turned back to Emma, smiling once they were alone. “Well, Miss Marchant, here we are.”

  Emma glanced to him and then back to her horse, concentrating on getting the brown coat to shine. Not knowing what else to say, she simply repeated it back to him. “Yes, here we are.”

  She watched from the corner of her eye as he moved closer to her stall. He leaned against the wood column that the stall latch was hooked onto and folded his massive arms. His long sleeves had been rolled up past his elbows, no doubt because the fabric couldn’t hold the muscles in. She had to blink several times to keep her eyes from bulging from their sockets.

  “Do you work here, too, or is this just for leisure?” the attractive man said.

  She looked to him, his friendly smile lessening her anxiety somewhat. She returned a slight smile and said, “No, this is my horse. Since I’ve no place to put her, Mr. Reilly lets me keep her here permanently, just so long as he can rent her out sometimes to customers.”

  “Well, she’s a beautiful animal.”

  Emma nodded her thanks as she addressed her attention back to brushing her mare. She felt tense as she knew she should say something next, but she could think of nothing. He had asked about her horse. She should say something about his. The image of tripping up the stairs entered her mind. Her tongue froze, and the fear of making a fool of herself in front of the man again increased. Oh, why did Eliza leave me here alone? she thought.

  She saw out of the corner of her eye as Thatcher looked expectantly towards her. Her heart threatened to break forth from her chest when she saw his smile fade and his body slowly turning around to walk away.

  “So,” she said without another thought. Thatcher instantly turned his attention back to her with a smile. Was he happy that she was talking with him? Quickly, she thought, think of something to say. “What is your…horse’s…name?”

  Why in the world are you askin’ him that? However, Thatcher didn’t make her feel like a fool. Instead he seemed happy to answer. The crow’s feet near his eyes made her want to sigh.

  “This here’s Sweet Tooth,” he said as he patted the black horse in the stall next to Emma. “Named him after he ate a whole bucket of sugar cubes as a colt. He came down with colic real bad but somehow made it through.”

  She smiled as he continued to stroke his horse’s neck, but when he moved his gaze back to her, anxiety returned. She needed to leave. His close proximity and smiling eyes were just too much for her to handle.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Deakon,” Emma said, placing the brush back on the hook and walking towards the stall door where the tower-of-a-man stood looming. “I’d best be off to get supper ready.”

  She expected him to move aside at once, but as she drew nearer, he remained still, arms folded and muscles bulging. She looked up at him, wanting to stand firm, but when their eyes met, she was completely unraveled. “Excuse me, Mr. Deakon?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “You know,” he started, his deep tone warming Emma to the soul, “I could move, but where’s the fun in that?”

  She craned her neck further back, wondering where he was going with his playful taunts.

  “I think you need to give me somethin’ first, Miss Marchant,” Thatcher said, eyes aglow with mischief. “What do you think it should be?”

  Emma was entirely undone! What in the world was she supposed to say to this glorious human being? And was he, dare she think it, flirting with her like before? She shook the thought from her mind in an instant. Never had a man flirted with her. Sure, boys had, but never a man. Not one that was so good looking, anyway. She feared she was only imagining it like before.

  She stood staring up at him, not sure of what to say, when suddenly, an inner thought inside urged her to play along. She tried to suppress it, but his daring eyes and playfully smug grin spurred her on. Something not unlike confidence clicked inside her, and instead of letting her insecurities push it away, she decided to let it out. What did it matter anyway if he saw her true self, the confident Emma she longed to be around everyone? He would soon be gone, on to the next town.

  The thought of not being able to see Thatcher for much longer strangely saddened her, but she focused on speaking instead. “You know what I think, Mr. Deakon?” she said with a coy smile, trying to look sure of herself.

  “What do you think, Miss Marchant?” Thatcher’s eyes lit up as she responded to his game.

  Emma took a deep breath and let it all out before fear held her back again. “I think me feedin’ you supper is already quite enough for you to let me out of this stall. And I also think that if you don’t let me pass you soon, you won’t be gettin’ any food at all.”

  The two stared at each other, and Emma was delighted when she heard a rumbling chuckle protrude from Thatcher’s mouth. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Well done, Miss Marchant. I ain’t goin’ to argue with you there.”

  He opened the stall door for her, and Emma smiled shyly. “Thank you, Mr. Deakon.” She took a deep breath as she walked past him, her nose filling with scents of leather and horsehair from Thatcher’s shirt. She had done it! She had acted like herself around the wildly attractive man!

  She heard him click the lock on the stall behind her, and she smiled, nodding her thanks again.

&n
bsp; “Will you allow me to walk you home?” Thatcher asked, sounding hopeful as he turned towards her.

  Emma’s heart flipped. Walk her home? She must be dreaming! Never had a man asked to walk her home! Not one she’d wanted to, at least.

  She nodded, trying to hide her excitement, and took a step forward, only to be stopped as his hand took her own, tucking it snuggly in the crook of his elbow. Her breathing stopped and so did all previous confidence. The touch of his callused fingers to her soft palm was enough to make her swoon, but the feel of his muscled forearm against her fingers made her think of dropping dead on the floor from sheer ecstasy!

  Thatcher looked down to her as her limbs remained frozen to their spot. “You alright there, Miss Marchant?” he asked.

  She half-expected him to be smug about the affect he had on her, but he looked none the wiser, so she nodded her head and was somehow able to follow his gentle urging to walk.

  They continued in silence, and Emma squinted from the bright sun overhead as they made it out of the livery.

  “It’s a beautiful day, ain’t it? Not too hot for normal July weather,” Thatcher said.

  Emma could only bob her head in agreement. She wanted to set aside her worries, but the only thing she could think of was how she was supposed to get home in once piece.

  She nodded her greetings to Mrs. Turner, a local farmer’s wife, who gawked at Thatcher as they walked past her and ignored Emma completely. You’re married, for cryin’ out loud, she thought about the woman. Pull yourself together!

  Yet, the attention Thatcher continued to receive from every woman who passed them made Emma feel proud, and she couldn’t help but hold her head a little higher. Her nerves calmed as a cool breeze lessened her flush, but she was sure Thatcher could still feel her hand shaking against his arm. How a stranger, a man she had only met an hour before, could make her so flustered was beyond her knowledge.

  She managed a glance towards him and noticed that his straightforward gaze not once shifted to any woman who walked by. Her heart swelled with joy at the fact, and she tried to hide the smile that was quickly forming on her lips.