Emma grinned. "We could throw you in the river," she joked.
"But I can't swim yet," he protested, his eyes widening in fright.
Emma chuckled and Nathan, realizing she was teasing him, joined in.
"That's why you have to take a bath," she said a few moments later when their laughter had died down.
The little boy let out a loud sigh. Then his face brightened, and he dropped the weed he held, turning to Emma. "Could you tell us a good story, a funny story?"
What was he thinking? "I ... suppose so ..."
"Good," he said, "maybe Pa'll like it and he won't be so ornery all the time."
With that, he turned his back on Emma and began to tug at the weeds, leaving Emma with the distressing thought that a little boy shouldn't have to be concerned about the moods of his parents.
***
"Sam? We have to talk."
Sam looked up to see Emma standing in the doorway of the barn, the sun silhouetting her shape against the deep blue of the sky. She walked towards him, her hips swaying gently beneath the fullness of the brown work skirt, and desire shot through him with the force of a cannonball. He turned away, training his eyes on the sickle he'd been sharpening when she called his name. Maybe if he kept his gaze on the tool he'd be able to tamp down the need in his gut that exploded whenever she was near.
The past few days had been agony. Watching the way her body moved as she worked in the kitchen, breathing in her scent, feeling her lying beside him every night ...
The only way he'd managed to get through it was by avoiding her as much as he could. She'd been confused and hurt. He knew that. But he didn't know what else to do. When he'd agreed to this arrangement, he'd had no idea this would happen, that he'd be able to put his life with Catherine in the past, that he'd want another woman more than breath itself. But that's exactly what had happened.
He'd thought Emma felt the same way. He knew enough about women to know when they were responding, and Emma's body told him what her voice refused to. And when he'd suggested they be a real husband and wife, he'd expected her to agree. But she'd turned him down.
Where were they supposed to go from here?
"What's the problem?" he mumbled, keeping his gaze averted.
"We are."
Sam set the sharpening stone on the top of the stall rail and straightened up.
What was she getting at?
She was nervous. He could tell by the way she was nibbling on the inside of her bottom lip. What the hell did she have to be skittish of? Him?
"We are?"
Emma nodded. "We can't go on living this way."
Sam's eyebrows lifted. "Oh? And what way is that?"
"You know what I'm talking about, Sam. We've barely said two words to each other in days. You leave the room whenever I come in, making half-hearted excuses about how much work you have--"
"What do you expect me to do? Pretend that we're a loving couple?"
"Exactly."
"But we aren't."
"It's not good for the children to see us like this," she explained.
"And what about you? It doesn't bother you?"
Sam heard Emma's sharp intake of breath. Was it driving her as crazy as it was him?