But instead of yelling back at him, she turned away and carefully lifted the lid off the roasting pan.
"What's wrong, Ma?" Joseph came into the room, then stopped, his gaze flitting from Emma to Sam. "Did you burn the supper?"
Nathan followed right behind and stood beside Joseph. "What? You burned it?"
Emma turned to face the children. "No," she said. "Supper's fine. Your father was just telling me how he feels about the work I did in the kitchen."
"What about it?" Joseph asked.
"Never mind," Sam said. "Sit down and eat your supper." Turning, he stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, his gut feeling as if someone had slammed a fist into it.
He opened the bedroom door and went inside. The room was the same, but it seemed different. Except for a crate piled high with quilts in the corner, the room was spotless. There were no petticoats or dresses draped over the chairs. There wasn't a speck of dust on the chest, and the room smelled of polish, and sunshine, with a faint scent of roses. It smelled of Emma.
A sob he'd held inside since the day Catherine died tore at him. She's gone. And she's not coming back. Ever. If I'd let her go back east when she asked ... if I'd only been able to make her happy ...
Sam slumped into the rocker and leaned forward, his head in his hands as sobs racked his body. He hadn't cried when she died. Not once. But even his willpower couldn't stop the tears from flowing now. He couldn't even stop them when he heard the door open and felt Emma's presence in the room.
Emma laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right to cry, Sam."
With a tortured groan, he reached out and pulled her tight, pressing his face against her breasts. His entire body trembled.
Emma held him as he wept, comforting him with soft words. Her touch was gentle as she smoothed his dark hair, breathing in the scent of soap. The heat of his body
warmed her, and her heart began to skip.
After a time, he quieted and looked up. His eyes were glassy, and his lashes were damp. Their gazes met, and Emma's breath caught. A strange sensation washed over her, as if she and Sam were the only two people left in the world, as if they were two parts of one whole.
Unnerved, she moved out of the circle of his arms. "I ... I'd better go and see to the children ..." She turned away and took a step towards the door. Her heart was fluttering like a hummingbird, and her legs trembled. Sam's hand found her arm and stopped her, drawing her around to face him.
"I'm sorry, Emma." He ran his hand through his hair, and Emma noticed for the first time the fatigue in the way he was sitting. "I didn't mean to hurt you ..."
Emma's lips curved in a weak smile. "Grief makes people do strange things. I'll put the dishes back in the morning."
"No." He reached up and cupped her chin. "It's time to let go of the past."
A curious warmth spread through her as his eyes met hers.
If only it was that simple.
Chapter 9
Sam yawned as he drew the wagon to a stop in front of the mercantile and climbed down from the seat. He was exhausted. How many more nights could he lie beside Emma and keep his hands off her? Not that he'd been keeping his hands off her, but at least he'd been able to control himself to some extent. It seemed every morning, after falling into a fitful sleep, he woke to find himself wrapped around her, her soft body snuggled into his. Much as he tried to will himself to stay on his side of the bed, it never worked. It was a good thing Emma was a heavy sleeper. He'd never known anyone to sleep so soundly.
He yawned again, rolled his shoulders to loosen them and went up the steps to the store. The bell jingled as he opened the door.
"Mornin', Sam," Libby called out from behind the counter. "What brings you to town in the middle of the week?"
"Emma tells me you have a litter of pups you're trying to get rid of."
Libby picked up a pencil and scribbled something on a piece of paper. "That's right. You interested in taking one off my hands?"
"The children want one. Couldn't think of a good reason why not."
Libby smiled. "That's real nice of you, Sam. Those children of yours have had a rough time of it. A dog might make it easier to get over losing their mother."
"It was Emma's idea," Sam told her, "not mine."
"She's really taken to those little ones of yours, hasn't she? Like she'd birthed them herself."