Emma's Wish

No! She refused to think about the possibility of losing. Somehow, they would convince the judge the children belonged with them.

"Stop it, Sam!" Emma said. "The children aren't going anywhere."

"I hope to God you're right," Sam replied.

Emma smiled softly. So did she.

***

Sam sat down on the top porch step. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he gazed out into the darkness.

His land. Under the moonless sky, it was a black void. Like his life would be if he lost his children. And if he lost Emma. Over the past few weeks, it had become hard to separate his children and Emma in his heart. The two had become one. They were his life. Without them, nothing else mattered.

He prayed Emma was right. She was so sure that the judge would see fit to leave the children with him.

But Emma hadn't grown up back east, where men with money and power exploited those less fortunate, manipulated the government, and grew richer on the backs of others. He'd seen it first-hand.

The Howards had money. Lots of it. And friends in high places. What chance did he, a struggling rancher, have in a court battle against them?

Sam heard the door close behind him and Emma's soft voice as she crossed the porch. She stopped beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," Sam lied. He wondered if he would ever be all right again. He looked up as Emma sat down on the step. The clouds shifted, and moonlight played on her face, shadowing the curve of her jaw, shimmering on her pale blonde hair curling down her back. Her scent wafted over him, the fragrance heating his blood and pooling deep in his groin.

He had to stop his thoughts from centering on the woman sitting beside him with her thigh brushing against his. "Are the kids asleep?" he asked.

Emma nodded. "Nathan asked me something that's worrying. He and Joseph had obviously been talking, and they both got very quiet when I went into the room to say goodnight. Then Nathan asked me if I was going to die, too."

Sam thought about it for a moment, but couldn't come up with any reason the boy would ask about the possibility of Emma dying. She sure didn't look sick. In fact, she looked downright beautiful. "Why would he ask that?" he asked finally.

"He thought something must be terribly wrong because you look so sad. He told me you looked the same way when his mother became ill."

"Aw, hell ..."

Emma's hand found its way to rest on Sam's bare forearm. The touch of her fingers on his skin sent desire skimming through him. "We have to try to forget about the Howards, forget about the courts, forget about everything but what we have here. Worrying won't change the outcome, and the best thing we can do for those children is to give them the kind of life they deserve."

"How do we forget about it, Emma? How do we forget that two weeks from now, they might be on their way to Boston."

"That's not going to happen." Emma's voice was stern, but he heard the catch in her voice.

Sam turned to face her. She was so beautiful. Reaching up, he traced the line of her jaw with his forefinger. Her eyes sparkled. Brushing his thumb across her cheek, he felt the dampness of a tear that had escaped.

"Help me forget," he whispered just before he closed the gap between them and his mouth found hers.

If only they could, Emma thought as she felt the first touch of Sam's lips. If only they could forget everything and everyone who threatened their happiness. If only she could forget the reasons she couldn't be a real wife to Sam. She drew back. "Sam, I can't."

"All I'm a

sking for is a kiss, Emma." His lips teased the corner of her mouth. "Just a kiss."

"I ..." She should get up and run now, before the feelings washing over her made her lose her common sense. Deep inside, her heart was thrumming, and the way Sam's lips were brushing over her throat were making it difficult - no, impossible - to think straight.

Sam's lips followed the line of her jaw and came back to her mouth. "Just a kiss, Emma."

One kiss. One kiss couldn't hurt, could it? If that's all she'd ever experience, why not enjoy Sam's kisses.

Slowly, sensuously, Sam threaded his fingers through her hair. Wrapping a curl around his finger, he closed his eyes and breathed in its fragrance. "I love the smell of your hair. It reminds me of the air right after it rains." His finger touched the nape of her neck, and she shivered. Her hand splayed against his chest.

"Are you cold?" he asked.