Emma's Blaze (Fires of Cricket Bend Book 2) (19 page)

She put a foot up on the side of the tub, and untied one boot and let it drop to the floor.

She changed feet, and the other boot hit the floor. Under her bare feet, she felt the drops of water that had come off his arm. She lifted the blue shirt over her head, and let it fall away.

Now she wore only her pants and a silky camisole. The silk hid nothing, and she knew her body was giving away her desire for the man before her. He took her meaning. With shaky fingers, Emma unhooked her pants and let them drop. Her eyes never left Bill’s, and his never left her hands. Soon all she wore was the silky camisole that hung just below her private places. It barely hid everything.

Bill dragged a finger along the place where the chemise stopped, and her skin jumped to gooseflesh. An idea came to her. As she looked down at her chemise, she spoke, despite her breath wanting to fly away at the touch of his curious fingers.

“The establishment I found Hank at—it’s a pretty fancy place. We can’t go there looking like we do.”

“Of course not,” Bill answered, with a look down at his own nakedness. “We’d cause a scandal.”

“Hush.” Emma bent over the side of the tub. She let one finger drag over the surface of the water. “You’ve been so good to me. Let me dress you in finery for one day,” she urged. Her traveling hand ran over his wet chest before going down into the steaming water. Her fingers found him, and he knew he’d give in to her. Slowly, she rubbed him until he grew hard in her fingers.

“Emma.” Bill closed his eyes at her touch.

“I think, in a new suit, you’d cut an impressive figure,” she whispered. She ran the tips of her fingers over his thighs, and scraped lightly with her fingernails. “Not that you don’t already.”

Catching her hand under the water, Bill held her by the wrist and kept her hand in the tender place it had landed. Desire flamed in his eyes. Emma rose up enough to offer him a breast. He leaned forward and took it in his mouth, toying with her, even through the thin fabric of her chemise. She carefully stepped into the tub with him. The water rose higher as she settled onto his lap, feeling the hardness of his thighs against her bottom. “Please. Pretty please.”

He nodded and tensed at the meeting of their flesh. “If you asked me to cut off my arm, I’d agree right now.”

She leaned forward, the soaked and transparent fabric only a thin barrier between them. When she put her lips on Bill’s, he ran his hands down her sides, pulled the chemise up over her head. He discarded it somewhere over the side of the tub.

They were naked, and they were together. It felt deliciously familiar.

Bill’s hands roamed beneath her bottom. He gripped her flesh so hard it made her gasp. He lifted her up as he shifted to where he wanted to be, poised right against her waiting womanhood. Emma anticipated his entrance, but he held back.

“What are you waiting for?” Breathless, Emma held his shoulders with hard fingers.

“For you,” he answered. “To let me love you. No lies, no secrets, no fear. Just you and me. That’s all that really matters, Emma.”

She bit her lip, touched by his words.

He moved her down onto him. As he filled her, Emma exclaimed louder than she meant to, and his mouth found her neck. Waves of water caused by the rhythm of their bodies splashed over the sides of the tub, but neither one of them cared. She leaned back and rested her arms on the sides of the tub, even as their bodies joined instinctively. She didn’t think. There was no need for thought.

By the time he rose from the water, lifting her after him and carrying her to the bed, Emma knew her choice was made.

Bill.

It would always be Bill, forever more.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

Bill

Though their vigorous lovemaking should have tired him out, Bill couldn’t sleep. He was too nervous. Rising from the bed, he went to the window and opened it to look out upon the still lively street. The air smelled of people and food and horses and the river. All the bustle made him feel as if he couldn’t breathe. The smells and the constant noise, even in the early hours of the morning, and the streetlamps blocking the stars, unsettled him. The city surrounded him. He wanted dirt and trees and rocks—the real, true stuff of the earth.

He wanted the plains, and the trail. He wanted his familiar home back in Laredo. And he wanted the woman sleeping in the bed to want it with him.

Down the street was a man who was standing in the way of them having all they wanted, but not for long.

Later on that morning, Emma took him shopping.

After visiting several shops, Emma found one full of dresses she liked. She looked through all the racks before she chose a deep brown dress with small white flowers. As the shop owner took her back behind a screen to try on the garment, Bill fiddled with his hat. He wasn’t comfortable being in a ladies’ shop. Laredo didn’t have anything like the stores in New Orleans. It wasn’t a small town like Cricket Bend, but it was certainly no match for a city as grand as New Orleans.

“Oof,” he heard Emma grumble.

“It fit?”

“I have not worn a corset since the day we met,” she replied. “I’d forgotten what a burden breathing becomes when I’m wearing one.”

The first thing he saw when she emerged from behind the screen were the skirts. They were full around her feet, but tapered in as they got to her hips. Her chest was tightly wrapped in the corset of the dress, and the long sleeves and high neck of the gown hid most all of her flesh. Bill realized this was how she’d dressed before she’d known him. The effect startled him; she looked the way she was meant to look. Her figure fit the style well, and she’d done her hair up in an elegant twist, same as many of New Orleans women wore.

“Your wife is a beauty,” an attendant at the shop commented.

“She certainly is,” Bill answered, enjoying the idea. Emma looked beautiful. More than beautiful, she looked refined, like a princess who’d belonged to this life all the while he’d known her, and she’d only been visiting his world and playing among paupers. Gone was every trace of the person who’d ridden a horse across a river, survived a stampede, and knocked a man down with the butt of a shotgun.

It felt like he was meeting an entirely different woman.

There was every possibility that she would decide to stay in New Orleans. A few smooth and pretty words from Hank, and she might decide to return to the easier life full of decoration, and easy money. While Emma enjoyed herself, and bought new boots, he felt rising dread. Not at the boots. Pixie boots, they were called, and the cobbler said they were all the rage in Paris.

“What do you think?” Emma held her skirt up to show him the heel.

“I’d like to see you try and work a trail in those.”

“They’re not made for that.” She smiled, as if it wasn’t an option.

Their next stop was a men’s haberdashery. There weren’t a pair of chaps to be found, so Bill surrendered to Emma’s expertise in the manner of clothing. After much deliberation, and having him try on a number of things, she chose a long brown jacket, trousers, a patterned shirt, and a vest which fit him well—even if he found it too snug to move freely.

He agreed to those articles of clothing. And then she held up a top hat.

“The final touch.” Emma wore a look of sheer glee.

Bill frowned. “What kind of fancypants fool would wear something like that?”

“Many a fancypants fool,” she answered. “Take a look outside.”

“I’ll wear the rest of this,” he said. “Even though, in this vest, I can imagine how you feel in your corset. But I will not wear a top hat. For heaven’s sake, a man can only take so much, Emma.” When she let the matter slide, he was grateful.

They walked the promenade, arm in arm. In New Orleans, the air smelled of the water from the Gulf, and food, and flowers. Emma drank it all in, looking at everything and smiling at everyone. Every step she took made her face seem brighter, and convinced Bill further that she belonged to the city life—the bustle and the people and the dance of lively encounters with strangers.

She’d never been meant to be a ranch wife. If he’d held any notions of the sort, he’d been kidding himself.

They ate more than once. Seafood cooked on outside stoves. At a small restaurant run by folks Emma told him were Creoles, Bill had crawfish for the first time, boiled with lemon and salt in a pot, and served with potatoes and crispy corn cakes. His vest seemed to grow tighter with each buttery bite.

“Glad Appie isn’t here to see me eating like a king while he’s cooking a pot of beans.”

“If you take him back some good spices, I imagine he’ll forgive you.” Emma licked butter off her fingertips.

She’d said if
he
took Appie back spices. Not if
they
were to do it.

A slight sadness settled into him. This might be the last day he’d ever spend with her this way. How could she go back to a life of hard work after being in such a place?

“Are you all right?” Emma asked. “You look troubled.”

She’d never promised him forever. For heaven’s sake, she’d been another man’s wife from the day he’d met her. Every minute they’d spent together had been wonderful, but it had also likely been nothing more than a dream.

“I’m fine,” He breathed out through puffed cheeks as they made their way from the restaurant back out onto the street near Jackson Square. “I’m about as full as a man can be, though. Might not eat for a week.”

Emma pointed to a building by the water.
‘
Café du Monde
,’
the sign read.

“I’ve heard of this place. Would you like some beignets?”

“Been-whats?”

“Beignets.” She pulled him to a table in the small courtyard. “Fried dough with powdered sugar. We must try them. I’ve always wanted to.”

Moments later, a waiter brought cups of coffee with cream and a plate of warm pastries covered in sugar. The smells of heaven wafted up to Bill’s nose. When he bit into one, he had to close his eyes for a moment from the pure perfection he tasted.

“I hear there’s a tradition. If you’ve never been here, you’re supposed to blow the sugar and make a wish.”

“All right,” Bill agreed.

They each held up their beignets, and blew at the sugar.

Light white sugar landed on both of their faces. As they wiped themselves clean, neither could help but laugh.

“What’d you wish for?” Bill asked her.

“Nothing,” she answered. “Right now, there’s nothing I need. How about you?”

He’d wished for her, forever. “I can’t tell you. If I do, I won’t get my wish.”

“Sneaky.” Over the top of the coffee she sipped, she watched the street. “Oh my, this city is lovely.”

They watched people and horse-drawn carriages go by. Once they’d both eaten past the point of comfort, they left Café du Monde. With arms entwined, they began walking back toward where they would find Hank. When the doors of the saloon were close, Emma stopped Bill from reaching out to open them. He wanted to tell her feeling fear was fine, and they could run away and never come back and never think of Hank Porter ever again. He would hold her close and sweep her out of the city, never to look back.

But he couldn’t. They’d come too far, and she needed closure.

Bill put her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed her fingers.

“If you put this off any more, you’ll never do it.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “For everything. Even if everything falls apart from here. Thank you, Bill.”

Emma went through the doors, and he followed with a bad feeling in his gut.

All that day, he’d seen a new way of life in the port city, but the energy and noise in The Magnolia Crow blew it all away, along with any saloon he’d ever been inside. The place shone, and the people shone and laughed. Being inside was like walking on a cloud.

Emma’s gaze was fixed. Bill looked to where she looked.

He’d encountered Porter before, but had never seen him through the eyes of a man in competition with him. Seeing him now, he felt his heart sink. Hank Porter was good-looking, well-dressed, and oozed charm out his eyeballs. Watching the man was like watching a King hold court as he hosted the festivities, pouring drinks and leaning over card games to tease players, or order them up more drinks or chips. Tall and dark-haired, Hank’s smile made the women at the tables around him smile back even bigger. Bill couldn’t help but notice the way more than a few women looked as if they’d drop their dresses to the floor right there, should he request such a thing.

Emma began to back up, but Bill caught her by the hand he still held. “You’ve come all this way. Turn around now, and it will have been for nothing.”

“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“I think you’ve made more than a few. But coming here ain’t one of them.”

“Let’s go,” she breathed. “Let’s run far from here.”

“Hello, sweetness.”

The words, spoken in a melodic drawl, made Emma grip Bill’s fingers so hard he was surprised she didn’t break them. Her head fell, and her eyes closed.

Hank had come around a table and was stepping up to the two of them, a curious expression on his face. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you coming into my establishment?” He came closer until he was no more than two feet away from them. “A beauty like you doesn’t come along every day, Emma.”

Emma’s eyes opened. Any previous fear was gone. Bill gulped. She was furious, and looked like she was about to spark into a raging flame.

“Pretty words,” she retorted. “Hello, Hank.”

“You look well.”

“You look tired.”

“That biting tongue. Glad to see you’ve kept your spirit.”

“I’d rather have kept my money.”

“Direct to the point, as always. I do believe your face looks familiar, Mr…”

“McKenzie.”

“Of course. The infamous brothers McKenzie. How could I forget? It’s nice to see you again, sir. Allow me to treat the two of you to some libations. I’m sure you’ve had a long journey. Have you come far?”

“Very.”

To his credit, Hank’s charming smile never faltered. “There’s a table right there. I’ll be back.”

Emma and Bill sat at the table. Immediately, she began tapping her fingertips on the surface.

“He’s just a man,” Bill reminded her.

“He’s the goddamn devil incarnate,” she snapped back.

She’d been the same kind of irritable with Callie Lee back in Cricket Bend, and he didn’t care for it. “No, he’s not. He’s a man, same the rest of us.”

Applause filled the room, and a woman with olive-colored skin made her way up to the small stage. She threw a large and lovely smile to the crowd, earning whistles. The piano player began a song, and she leaned on the upright.

Never had Bill heard music like what she sang.

As the music spilled from her, Emma’s fury eased. Hank stepped up behind them and placed a bottle and three glasses on the table. “She’s good.” Emma watched the singer.

“Not as good as you.” Hank slipped into his seat and delivered a bottle and two glasses to the table. “But then, few are.”

“Flattery won’t make me less mad at you,” she whispered. Never ceasing to watch the singer, she took a drink of the liquor Hank poured. In a room full of incredible people, the singer had everyone’s attention. As she swayed, she sang a song of sorrow and loss of love in a low-toned voice, and Bill felt chills.

For the whole of the song, they listened with rapt attention. After a round of hearty applause, the singer left the stage. The crowd returned to the previous chatter.

“What brings you to my establishment, Emma?” Hank asked. “I know this wasn’t intended as a purely social call, and I know you’re not here simply by chance.”

“I want my money,” she said flatly. “And a divorce.”

“Neither of those things are possible,” Hank replied. “I don’t have your money, and it’s to both of our advantage to remain married. Besides, divorce is a terrible ordeal.”

“I fail to see how associating with you could bring anyone any advantage.” Emma’s voice got louder, and Bill sat forward. Hank sat forward, too, and effectively blocked Emma from Bill’s view

“Stay here and find out,” Hank pleaded, taking her hand in his. “This is as safe a place as any to hide. Everyone in New Orleans is hiding from something. Eugenia, the singer you just heard, is leaving in a few weeks. Stay on as the new singer. The Sparrow, just returned from a tour of the Wild West. Think of the posters.”