The ominous firing had gone on for hours without a letup. His relentless practice made her skin prickle with dread.
There was nothing she could do to change his mind. Not reason, not anger, not even giving up what meant the most. She had lied when she had told Matt she would leave this house no matter what. If all that was left of him was this place born of his sweat and his blisters, she would never leave it.
Lucy snuggled against Emma’s breast, then popped her thumb out of her mouth.
“Mama, when I was sick I heard my heart talk to me.”
“Did you now, and what did your heart say?” She stroked a web of fine blond curls away from Lucy’s forehead, but they sprang right back into place.
“Drink the icky tea so I would get better and you could be my mommy forever.”
Her heart constricted under her corset. Mercy, had the child turned back from the grave for a mother’s love? Looking back at her own past, Emma knew she would have done it, too, had she ever been given that chance.
Chilly wind pushed the storm closer to the homestead and swirled the dust in the yard into puffs and sooty streaks. She wrapped the blanket a little tighter and hugged Lucy close to her chest. The shared warmth and mingled breath made her want to sit so forever.
“I wanted you to be my real mommy, so I drank it even though it tasted bad.” She popped her thumb back into her mouth. Her babylike fingers brushed over Emma’s heart with the rhythm of her sucking.
“Your heart spoke true, sweetie. I love you as much as any mother ever loved her little girl.”
How could she not have known it from the very first day?
If the worst happened to Matt or if it didn’t, this child was hers.
* * *
Rain slapped the bedroom window, carried by a sidelong wind. Emma bent her forehead to the glass and felt the beat of it. Even though the storm turned the yard to muck, which would end up on her floors, she was grateful for it.
A gunfight couldn’t happen in a downpour.
Earlier, Matt had come in from his quick-draw practice just a few paces ahead of the storm. Not a word had passed between them in the hours since.
Emma touched the glass. She traced the zigzag trail of a drip of water. It looked like a giant teardrop.
Anger had made her a fool tonight. How she regretted telling Matt to sleep in the dugout with Red and Billy.
In a world that seemed suddenly out of control, this might be the one thing she could change. She dashed out of her room, down the hall and out the front door into the night before she realized that she had forgotten to put on a robe or shoes. Cold mud squished between her toes, but she pressed on toward the sod house. She banged on the door. “Matt!” she cried.
The door opened and she threw her sodden self into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I will stand by you… . Please come home.”
Red sat up in his bed, rubbing his hands over his hair. “What’s going on?” he mumbled.
“Go back to sleep,” Matt said and closed the door. He swept her up and ran through the downpour, back to the house.
* * *
Matt made love to his wife three times, each time intended to be an eternal vow. He longed to smash the clock in the hall, its relentless tick reminding him that there was nothing eternal about this night.
Rain pummeled the roof and flew against the windows. Under the covers, Emma faced him pressed tight to his side. Her breath, puffing warm against his neck, smelled sweet.
The even rise and fall of her ribs didn’t fool him into thinking she was asleep. “Emma, we need to talk,” he whispered.
She shook her head, then turned toward the window. The warmth of her round behind snuggled into his crotch.
“Some things have to be said…to be arranged.”
“Unless you are going to tell me you are the fastest gun that ever lived and I don’t have a thing to worry about, don’t say a word… . I won’t hear anything else.” She tucked one hand under her cheek and reached back to rest her other hand on his hip. The movement pivoted her back so that her breast pointed up. He watched it jiggle with her heartbeat.
She was as frightened as he was. He could nearly hear her