Emma's Blaze (Fires of Cricket Bend Book 2) (2 page)

“Good Lord, you’re stubborn.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She studied him for a long moment, but she said nothing. Shifting her weight from her hurt foot, she thought a long time before she conceded. “Seeing as how my choices are limited, I’ll go with you.”

“All right.” He sighed, feeling some relief. Maybe she would trust him, though he noticed she still held the rock. “You gonna put that down?”

“I may need it.”

Clearly, her trust would have to come later. “What’s your name?”

“Folks call me Sparrow.”

“I’ve no doubt that’s true. I’d like to know your real name.”

“Only my friends get to know my real name. When and if I decide you’re a friend, I’ll tell you.”

“And you think I’m stubborn. Fine. Miss Sparrow, how bad are you hurt?”

“I can walk.” The agony on her face gave her away when she attempted to take a step. The pain appeared to be greater than she’d expected it to be, and she lost her footing. The next thing Bill knew, he was supporting her with his hand around her waist.

“Or you could just trust me.” Praying it wasn’t a mistake, he handed her his gun. She took it. He hoped he wasn’t hurting her as he ducked down to pick her gently up in his arms. She made for an easy armful. The arm holding the rock draped around his neck, and she rested his gun across her legs. Hoping this wasn’t the worst idea of his entire life, he made his way out of the trees.

CHAPTER TWO

Emma

Emma didn’t know what made her challenge the cowboy in the middle of the woods. As if there were even the slightest chance she’d be able to win against a man his size with only a rock to protect herself. The fact that he had a gun only made things worse. And she had a hurt foot. Then, she’d given him her silly nickname in place of her real name, and as a final touch, she had faked falling into his arms.

For her whole life, she’d been told that her big mouth would get her in trouble. On many an occasion the words had proved prophetic. Faced with a stranger wielding a gun, she should have just played sweet and lost and let his heroic heart carry her all the way to Cricket Bend as easily as he carried her out of the woods.

But no. She’d decided to be mouthy and put on lofty airs.

Being carried by a stranger seemed ridiculous, yet Emma could see that arguing with Bill McKenzie would be nothing short of pointless. Besides, if he’d wanted to hurt her, he could have just done so right when he’d caught her. There’d been no one around but the two of them, and she couldn’t have fought him off for long. Yet he’d made no indication of those sorts of intentions, and he was right. If she stayed in the woods any longer, lost and alone, she’d likely be dead in a few weeks at the most. The idea of spending another night alone in the darkness made her want to dig a deep hole and crawl in it, never to come out again. Faked fall or not, her ankle did hurt something awful.

The past few weeks had not gone according to plan.

She’d set out in a fine dress with a satchel full of the items she’d need for a brand new life. Now all she carried fit in one pocket she’d sewn into the underskirt of her dress: a small leather-bound notebook, the stub of a pencil, and four dollars. Everything else was gone, never to be found again.

Soon, she rode behind her knight-in-worn-leather on the back of a big gray horse. It had been weeks since she’d traveled any way but on foot, and the ride was a relief. Bill, the cowboy she rode behind, didn’t talk much, which she appreciated. It gave her time to study him.

Why in the world did he have to be good-looking?

It was difficult to ignore the warm strength of his body beneath her hands and occasionally against her legs. The sensation was far from unpleasant. From what she could gather, every bit of him was solid muscle, likely due to a life of hard ranch work.

Emma pushed those thoughts aside for the moment. She had enough trouble as it was.

“Why do they call you Sparrow?” Bill’s voice broke her reverie.

“Because I sing.”

“Like a bird, I bet. That makes sense, at least. My brother Saul plays harmonica. Always carries it in his pocket. He says it soothes the herd. He’s about the only music we have out here, but I bet the boys could go for a song or two.”

“If they feel like paying, I’ll be happy to sing for them.”

Bill laughed and shook his head. “Damn. You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

“It’s my livelihood, sir.”

“Not out here it ain’t.”

Emma fell silent. Of course music didn’t count as currency on a cattle drive like it did in the music halls and saloons she was used to. No doubt the men she was about to meet would value blistered hands from long days of hard work more than a song.

Give them what they want, sweetness.

The words of wisdom she’d lived by for so long came to mind. She could do it. She could be a lot of things to men—the daughter they’d bid farewell to come on the trail, the sister they hadn’t seen in years now living back east, the wife they’d lost in that terrible winter, or the woman who made them think exquisitely naughty thoughts they never acted on. What Bill McKenzie would come to want of her was his to decide, but there hadn’t yet been a role Emma had failed to play. Men were pliable, easy, and if she had to use him to assure her arrival in Cricket Bend, she would. She took special note of his broad shoulders and thought she might not even mind.

Things at the camp stopped as they rode up, and men seemed to come from everywhere to greet them, all their eyes landing on Emma. She tensed up. Bill had said there were twelve men on his drive, and twelve was a lot. She hoped they were, as he’d also said, all good men. After all, they were all she had now.

“Hot damn, Bill. Thought you were watching the herd.” A man who shared Bill’s brown hair and tall build stood up at their approach.

“I was. And they were watching her. Get Appie, would you, Pete? She’s hurt.” Bill quickly dismounted and reached up for Emma, letting her brace herself on his arms to get off the horse. He didn’t let her feet touch the ground, but helped her sit on a crate. She stretched her leg out in front of her to let her foot rest, breathing easier with the pain relieved.

“Better?” Bill asked.

Emma nodded.

“Miss.” A big-bellied man with a dark beard held out an enamel cup toward her. She looked up at him, not sure what he was offering. “Coffee.”

“Yes, thank you,” she accepted gratefully, though she’d been hoping for whiskey. She held the warm cup in her hands and sipped the hot, bitter liquid. Nothing had ever tasted better, and he’d sweetened it with molasses as well. “If heaven came in a cup, this would likely be it.”

The man beamed at her, and she drank more.

“Ollie, can you get her something to eat?” Bill asked the man. “I reckon its been a while since you’ve had much.”

“I had fish,” she replied. “Back where the river was bigger. And berries, but I only ate ones I recognized, and that wasn’t many. A few blackberries here and there.”

“You can fish?” Bill asked with surprise.

“I can do lots of things,” Emma answered. The fancy dress she wore likely gave them the impression she was some delicate prairie flower, so of course they wouldn’t expect her to be able to fish. Appearances, after all, were everything.

“I have no doubt.” Bill looked over her shoulder and stood up straight.

Emma looked where he was looking, and saw two older men, who couldn’t have been more different, approaching them. One was tall and white-haired and scowling, with Bill’s strong form and the bow-legged walk of a man who’d been on a horse all his life. The second was dark-skinned, with a peppered gray beard, and Emma was pleased to see he at least wore a half-smile.

The smiling man immediately dropped to a knee before Emma. “Sweet angel of mercy. What in the world happened to you?”

Bill moved to her side. “Appie’s the closest thing we got to a doctor out here. Let him see to your foot.”

There was something in Bill’s look that Emma didn’t understand until she noticed his eyes flicked over to Appie. She blushed at the realization that Bill wasn’t sure how she’d behave with a colored man attending her in place of a doctor, and was waiting for her to pitch a fit or play overly-proper. Her fancy dress and the hint of a southern twang in her voice, which she sometimes used to decorate her words, had most likely left him with the impression that she might be a daughter of the South, and that she might possess prejudices common to those from the losing side of the war.

He was waiting to see if she pitched a fit.

Emma was better than that. Determined to prove herself immediately, she returned Appie’s smile. “Of course. I hurt it about three days back. There were rocks, and I foolishly thought I could climb over them in these infernal boots.”

“Don’t look like they were made for the trail.” Appie winked at her.

“Not a bit,” she answered. “They were barely made for walking, I fear.”

“Can you walk on it?” he asked.

She nodded. “Hurts like the Devil, but I can do it if I’m forced to.”

“May I?”

The idea of a man she didn’t know holding her bare ankle was surprising, but for all purposes he was a doctor, and she was wounded. Emma hiked the hem of her skirt up to her mid-calf, and Appie began to untie the laces from her high boot. Once they were unlaced, he pulled the boot off as gently as he could. Emma winced and heard herself let out a little sound of pain, but everything felt better once the boot was off. Her ankle was swollen and bruised. Appie took it in his warm hands and pushed at the bruises, turned it slightly, and asked if various things hurt. Emma openly gave him answers.

“Looks like you just twisted it pretty bad,” he concluded. “It ain’t broken. I’ll wrap it up tight for you, and we’ll get you something to act as a crutch. Where you trying to go, miss?”

“Cricket Bend.”

Appie threw a sideways glance at Bill. “They got a good doctor there, I hear. Never met the man myself.”

Emma saw Bill’s face change at the mention of Cricket Bend. The kindness melted away for a minute, and he went pale. But it happened fast, and his eyes focused again and landed on the other side of Emma. It was then she realized the second man, the one who so resembled Bill and a few of the other men, stood watching everything without saying a word. When she looked up at him, he stared right back at her, and she didn’t know what to say.

Bill spoke down to Emma. “This is my pa and our trail boss, Josiah McKenzie. Pa, boys, this is Sparrow.”

“I’m grateful to you gentlemen for your help.” She looked around at all of them, but made sure to point her words mostly at the eldest Mr. McKenzie, who looked thoroughly unimpressed by her. She’d never seen a man scowl so hard in all her life.

“What are you running from?”

So the man could talk. “Sir?”

He indicated her torn dress and unkempt appearance. “Someone after you?”

“No one is after me, I assure you.” She sat up as straight as she could.

“You in some kind of trouble, then?”

“Not really.”

“Then how does a woman wind up this far away from anything resembling a town, in the condition you’re in?”

Emma held firm. “My story is my own, sir. Like I said, I am not running from anyone, and no trouble follows me. Rather, I am in pursuit of someone, and I have lost my way. I am grateful to you gentlemen for your help, and as I’ve said to Bill, if you get me to Cricket Bend I will reward you handsomely and be out of your hair.” The other men around all listened intently, and watched their patriarch with obvious nervousness. With his loud voice and stern face, he was an intimidating man. Emma wondered how long it had been since someone had challenged his orders.

Josiah McKenzie looked at her like she had two heads. “This ain’t a life of luxury,” he finally replied. “You travel with us, you earn your way.”

“Contrary to what my wardrobe may suggest, or at least once suggested, I am not afraid to work.”

“I doubt you know what real work is.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Can you cook?”

“Nothing fancy.”

“Can you sew?”

“I can mend.”

“Can you ride? Drive a wagon?”

“Both. And I can shoot. And, before you ask, I can read, write, play poker, I speak a little French, and I know a few tunes on the piano if you happen to have one lying about. I’m an accomplished dancer as well. If I wasn’t hurt, I could teach all you boys the Virginia Reel and the Waltz.”

“Anything else?

Emma folded her hands politely in her lap. “I’m also well-versed in the art of dynamite, if you happen to need anything blown up.”

A few of the gathered men chuckled. One laughed out loud, but cut it short when he received Josiah’s hard glare. Josiah stepped forward, his eyes focused on her. “I don’t care for sassing.”

“Josiah, she can help me out,” Appie said. “I could use another set of hands with the wagon and the cooking. She’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, sir,” Emma replied, feeling immensely grateful for his offer.

“Ma’am.” Appie winked at her.

Josiah nodded to Bill. “She’s your responsibility while she’s here. See that she doesn’t cause a distraction or hold us up.”

“She won’t.” Bill looked at Emma and she knew he meant it. Did he trust her? Surely he wasn’t that big a fool. They were complete strangers. But she nodded back at him, agreeing in unspoken words to the deal. Disrupting the drive wouldn’t be in her best interests anyway, as it would be taking her where she needed to go.

“You seen Andrew?” Josiah asked.

“He’s not here?” Bill seemed surprised. “I sent him back this way a while ago.”

Josiah sighed and stormed away from the group, muttering to himself.

Appie watched his boss go. Then he whistled. “Known him going on twenty-five years, and I never seen him that red-faced. Might have to call you Boss Lady.” He stood up and went off a little, climbing into a nearby wagon.

Emma looked at Bill. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you trouble.”

Bill grinned. When he smiled, the corners of his mouth crinkled. Emma couldn’t miss how nice of a smile he had. “Don’t fret over it. Pa’s just not used to people not cowering at his every order. You might be good for him. Do you really know how to use dynamite?”