An indecent thought flitted through Sam’s brain. How surprised would she be if he grabbed her right now and kissed her senseless?
Chapter 8
Emma ran her hand across the new yellow tablecloth to smooth out a wrinkle, then took a step back and surveyed the kitchen. The matching curtains fit perfectly, casting the kitchen in a golden glow as the late afternoon sun streamed through the newly washed window. It had been worth the hours it had taken to sew them.
Crossing to the shelf above the cherrywood hutch, she selected a crockery vase. The wildflowers she and Becky had picked earlier in the afternoon would be the perfect touch for the centre of the table.
"Pretty flowers," Becky announced. "Me smell."
Emma held a few blooms under Becky's nose. Becky's face disappeared into the bouquet. She sniffed loudly, then grinned. "Nice."
"Do you like them?" Emma asked, selecting two bluebonnets and slipping them in the vase.
"Me do it." Becky scrambled up on a chair and grabbed for the flowers in Emma's hand. "Me put them in."
Emma smiled. Becky wanted to do everything. Whether it was baking biscuits or collecting eggs from the henhouse, she followed Emma from morning until night, imitating every move. And Emma enjoyed every moment of it. She was coming to love the children as much as if she'd given them life. And she was coming to care for Sam, too. Too much. More than she had a right to.
"Me do it," Becky insisted, tugging at one of the blossoms. A petal tore off and dropped to the table.
"Oh." Becky's eyes widened and she shrank back, almost as if she was afraid. Tears trickled down her cheeks. "Me sorry," she cried. "Me sorry."
Emma reached for her and drew her into her arms. "It's all right, sweetheart. It was an accident."
"You not mad at me?"
"No, I'm not mad. But you have to be gentle or you'll hurt them," Emma pointed out.
Becky's head nodded in understanding. "Me be gentle."
With the hem of her apron, Emma wiped Becky's tears and handed her one of flowers. Carefully, Becky slid it into the vase. "Me be gentle?" She eyed Emma expectantly, her eyes sparkling, waiting for her approval.
"That's much better." Emma made a move to set the vase in the middle of the table.
"Me put it."
"Then let me help you."
Becky's small fingers reached. With Emma's hands covering Becky's, they positioned it in the centre of the table and stood back to admire the result. She yawned, fatigue washing over her. She'd been scouring and cleaning since breakfast, and every muscle in her body screamed for relief. But it was worth it. The room finally looked the way a kitchen should, sparkling clean and welcoming. She could barely wait to see the look on Sam's face when he and the boys came in for supper.
The evening meal was almost ready. A slab of beef with potatoes, carrots and onions was roasting in the oven. Fresh green beans were simmering on top of the stove, and the biscuits were rising on the counter, waiting to go into the oven as soon as she heard the wagon pull into the yard. Two cherry pies cooled on the window sill, their aroma wafting through the room.
She smiled and glanced at the grandfather clock. She'd have to hurry if she planned to get herself cleaned up before her men got back.
Her men.
When had she taken to calling Sam and the boys 'her men'? Over the past few days, she'd started to thinking of them that way. And she had to admit she did love the sound of the phrase. In fact, she loved everything about her new life. Well, almost everything.
As the days went by, she noticed Sam becoming more and more distant, more tense whenever she was nearby. When she watched him interact with the children, he was happy and relaxed, laughing and joking, enjoying them. Yet as soon as she entered the room, she sensed a wall between them.
But she had no idea why.
Perhaps he was just busy. Or perhaps she had expected more than he was capable of giving.
Before she had time to consider this, the door burst open. "Ma!" Joseph shouted, racing through the house into the kitchen. "What's for supper? We're starvin'."
Nathan followed close behind. His nose wrinkled up in distaste as he spied the beans. "Ooh, I hate beans," he muttered.
Emma smiled, then ruffled his hair. "I seem to have heard that once or twice. We have other vegetables, so you don't have to eat the beans."