Emma: Bride of Kentucky (American Mail-Order Bride 15) Page 6

  “The pleasure is all mine, Miss, and I’m sure we’ll see you around again.”

  Emma nodded and offered a weak smile. She shot a hasty glance at Hawley. Her cheeks flamed the instant she took notice of him.

  It was time to leave this barn, but returning to the house made her stomach turn.

  “Hawley.” She nodded curtly, without looking at him, and left through the barn doors at the other end, which led to the rest of the stables.

  * * *

  “Heard anything from your cousin lately?” Gus asked, and finished wrapping the bandage around Sam’s chest that Millie had removed.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder. “Trace?”

  Gus nodded.

  It was a silly question. He didn’t have any other cousins. Trace Hawley was his deceased Uncle Paul’s son, and owner of one of the wealthiest thoroughbred ranches in Montana. Sam shook his head. He’d only met his cousin a couple of times.

  The last time had been two years ago, when he’d brought a colt from Montana to the Derby and had made fools out of all the Kentucky bluebloods. Everyone had scoffed and laughed at him, and told him to take his ‘cow horse’ back to cattle country. One look at the colt, and Sam had known that the Derby would go to Montana that year.

  He smiled at the memory. Mrs. Benton’s heavy favorite had failed to run that day, and David Benton had sold the horse at the first opportunity. Trace had shown them all that it wasn’t always about who had the most money, even though Trace had plenty of money.

  “Sure is something, what he’s done with his life and what he’s accomplished.” Gus shook his head and smiled. “Married that pretty heiress, and got himself a prosperous horse ranch along with the girl.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. Where was the old coot going with that?

  “I don’t think Trace cared about the money. He loves Katie. That was obvious when we saw them a couple of years ago.” Sam tried to set him straight. Surely Gus wasn’t implying that Trace had married his wife for financial reasons?

  Gus chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth? I remember him doting on his wife. Incredible to think that she’s blind, and gets around as well as she does. The right woman sure has a way of taking hold of a man’s heart.”

  It was Sam’s turn to chuckle. “Exactly, Gus. Maybe you should tell Millie that, and get to marrying her.”

  Gus’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t talking about Millie, boy.” He cleared his throat and stepped away from Sam. He glanced down the barn aisle to where Miss Waterston had disappeared. “Maybe you oughta show that pretty lady around the barns, rather than letting her get lost.”

  Gus sank his teeth into a thick slice of bread. He closed his eyes and groaned with pleasure when he chewed.

  Sam rotated his shoulder, suppressing a hiss at the throbbing ache. The liniment was working to ease the pain, but the shoulder would be stiff for several days. He touched the bandage Gus had re-applied after Millie and . . . Emma had left. Slipping an arm through his shirt, he stood.

  “I don’t think I’m the right person to give the lady a tour of the farm, Gus.” Sam buttoned his shirt and tucked the ends into his britches.

  He glanced out the doors toward the broodmare barn. It was the first barn Miss Waterston would find. His feet itched to follow her. That she’d come to the stables had surprised the hell out of him, and the shocked look on her face when she’d seen him still made him smile. The rosy blush to her cheeks didn’t go unnoticed.

  “And why not? She seems like a nice lady, not as uppity as Miz Benton.” Gus paused and shook his head. “Why, it’s almost a shame that she –”

  The old man cut off his own words, but there was no doubt that he’d wanted to say that it was a shame that she was spoken for by David Benton. Sam mentally shook his head. He’d asked himself a thousand times, but he was asking again. What was a lady like her doing marrying a bastard like Benton? He’d mistreat her like he mistreated everything else. Sam clenched his jaw at the thought.

  She clearly liked horses, if she’d come all the way to the barns on her own. He’d seen it when she’d petted the carriage horses, and the soft way she’d spoken to them. That knowledge immediately set her apart from all the other bluebloods with whom he’d associated over the years. Most of them didn’t think of the horses as anything but a commodity that made them money. Benton was one of the worst.

  Sam reached for a slice of bread and adjusted his cap on his head. No doubt he was about to make a big mistake.

  “I’ll go and make sure she stays out of trouble, and that the hands behave themselves,” he mumbled and headed down the barn aisle, as Gus chuckled softly behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma walked down the spacious barn aisle, inhaling the pungent odor of hay and horses. A smile passed over her lips, and that familiar tranquil feeling flowed through her. How she’d missed this smell. It seemed even stronger among the other fragrances of Kentucky. The sweet smell of bluegrass simply permeated the air around her. How different this was from living in the city, and working from sunup to sundown in a textile factory.

  She’d still be in Lawrence if not for that fire, and so would her friends. Although the factory burning down had been a tragedy, and had put so many women out of work, it had been a blessing in disguise for Willow and Gillian. They were both happily married as a result of it. Rose would have arrived in Colorado by now, and met her new husband. Willow had blamed herself for the fire initially, thinking she’d been careless with a lamp, but the truth about what had really happened soon became apparent.

  Emma scoffed. Another man’s greed had uprooted so many women. Just like her father’s greed and gambling away her mother’s wealth had uprooted her.

  “You’ve risen above it all, Emma. You can do it again,” she whispered. Even if it meant marrying David Benton. Perhaps once he’d slept off the alcohol, he’d be more likable. She’d come here for one reason, and that was to escape her current life of poverty. Her mother and father hadn’t had a close marriage, far from it. They’d hardly ever spent time in each other’s company. It would be the same for her, which was perfectly fine.

  She glanced around. Emma stood in the empty barn aisle, and an unexpected wave of loneliness swept through her. She’d been here not even a full day, and the most comfortable she’d felt since her arrival had been in that carriage barn, with Millie the cook, and Gus the caretaker. Most likely it was simply the transition back to her former life. After a year of living in a cramped apartment, she wasn’t used to being among the wealthy again.

  Working-class people, those with whom she’d been forced to mingle for a year, were genuine and caring, something that hadn’t occurred to her until this morning. Even though they didn’t have much in the form of money or material goods, they were happy.

  Just like you were happy with Rose, Willow, and Gillian.

  They’d all worked long hours, and had needed to watch every penny, but they’d had fun, and a great friendship. Things she’d never had with any of her friends in Boston. Every single one of the ladies she’d considered her friends had cut ties with her when they’d found out that she’d lost everything.

  Emma laughed softly. For a year, she’d cursed her life every single day and had longed for her home in Boston, her servants, and her old so-called friends. Now she had most of that back, and something about it didn’t feel right.

  Her vision blurred. Emma glanced around and blinked away her tears of frustration. She should be happy, not weepy. What on earth had gotten into her? David Benton’s leering stare flashed in her mind and her wrist burned with the sensation of his tongue on her skin.

  She brushed the feeling aside. She was done being poor. She’d simply have to endure some unpleasantries in exchange for living a life of comfort. Lizette Benton had said that David was gone on business for much of the time. That would suit her just fine.

  A chestnut horse with a wide blaze stuck its head over the stall door and nickered softly. Emma sniffed. She squared her shoul
ders, smiled and headed for the horse.

  “Aren’t you a pretty one,” she said, and reached her hand out to touch the horse’s muzzle.

  Emma stepped closer and peered into the stall. “And by the looks of your round belly, you’re going to have a foal soon.”

  “She’s due to drop her foal any day.”

  Emma spun around. Her heart jumped up into her throat at the deep, familiar voice behind her. Hawley walked into the barn, and Emma swallowed. Relief swept through her that he’d put his shirt on again, but her cheeks heated at the memory of seeing him standing in the carriage barn with his torso exposed.

  What was it about this man that made her feel all nervous and jumbled up inside? Just because he was handsome shouldn’t make her all knotted-up. There’d been plenty of handsome men who’d called on her, when she’d still had money, and none of them had affected her this way. Hawley was a servant, a mere stable hand. She shouldn’t be in this barn, alone with him, and he should know better, too.

  Rather than leaving, Hawley moved closer, but his steps slowed. Emma glanced around. Too bad Millie or someone else didn’t come to her rescue, but the barn was deserted, other than the horses. He reached into his shirt pocket and held his hand out to the mare. She stretched her neck and accepted the treat he offered, chewing eagerly.

  “Even the horses love Millie’s bread,” he said with a smile. He patted the mare’s neck as she stretched, searching for more treats.

  Emma blinked and shook her head slightly to keep from staring at him. This was highly improper. Why had he followed her? She moved to leave, then stopped. Why should she leave? She wasn’t ready to return to the house and listen to Lizette drone on about engagement parties and dresses. Before she realized it, a soft laugh escaped her lips at the irony of it.

  For a year she’d cursed her father for forcing her out of her lifestyle. Now, here she was, and what she thought she’d been missing was being handed to her, yet she was standing in a stable, alone, talking to a stable hand. And suddenly, she didn’t care about the impropriety.

  Back in Boston, the hired help wouldn’t have dared come up to her and start a conversation without being addressed first. Perhaps here in Kentucky, the social norms weren’t quite as strict.

  “Something funny?” Hawley’s brows rose, making his forehead wrinkle. He removed his cap and ran his fingers through his disheveled mop of hair.

  “No,” she said quickly. “I just haven’t been around horses in a long time, and I’ve really missed it.” Her smile faded.

  “Well, there’s plenty of horses here for you to see whenever you want.”

  Hawley directed his attention to the horse, running his hand along the mare’s neck.

  Emma forced her eyes away from the man’s hand stroking the animal. She lifted her own hand to touch the soft muzzle. The mare blew warm air onto her wrist.

  “What’s her name?” she asked, avoiding eye contact with Hawley. There was a slight pause before he answered.

  “Her name is One Lucky Lady, but we just call her the Queen.”

  Emma patted the mare’s forehead. “I think she knows she’s a queen.”

  Beside her, Sam chuckled. “She does get the royal treatment. We’re keeping a close eye on her. Her foal last year was stillborn.”

  Emma briefly glanced up at Hawley. “That’s terrible. Nothing’s going to happen this time, is it?”

  He shrugged. “Hard to tell. I just wish Benton-” He broke off in mid-sentence and his face hardened.

  “You wish David Benton, what?” Emma prodded.

  Sam adjusted his cap on his head before answering. “He shouldn’t have ordered her bred again so soon.” His voice took on a note of anger. “She’s produced eight foals already, one each year. Her body needs a rest.”

  Emma raised her eyes to his. Hawley was a good head taller than she, and he stood much too close. He spoke with such passion, it was evident that he truly cared for the mare.

  The odor of liniment and the scent of hay filled her nose. She took a step to the side and dropped her hand from touching the mare.

  “Your shoulder,” she said, clearing her throat. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  Hawley’s eyes held hers for longer than was proper in any social circles, and Emma swallowed past the growing lump in her throat. She shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t be lingering in the barn. Finally, he shifted his shoulder and smiled, which was partly a grimace.

  “Rambunctious colt got me.” He chuckled. “In fact, it was this mare’s two-year old. All part of the job of training young horses. They can be unruly, and unpredictable.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “You’re a trainer, Hawley?”

  His grin turned genuine, and butterflies churned in her belly. A horse trainer certainly held a higher ranking than a mere stable hand.

  “Sometimes I drive the carriage when Gus asks me.” There was definite humor in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. Clearly, he was referring to being her driver yesterday. “Everyone calls me Sam, by the way.”

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be on a first name basis.” She glanced around and moved away from the stall. “Or that you and I are in this barn together, alone.”

  A hint of annoyance passed over him. “I don’t bite, Miss Waterston. I came in here to be polite to a newcomer to the farm.” He scoffed and shook his head. “And here I thought for a second that you were different from them.”

  Emma’s brows drew together. “Different?”

  “Yeah. None of those rich folks at the house give a hoot about the horses. I saw you pet those carriage horses yesterday, and now you’re here in the barn. Lizette Benton comes to the stables once a year, when she’s showing off her prized horses she knows nothing about to investors with deep pockets.”

  Emma took another step back to put some distance between herself and Sam Hawley. He hadn’t even bothered to disguise the contempt in his voice.

  “I do care about horses,” she stammered for lack of something else to say. She raised her chin and her spine stiffened. “I had a horse growing up.”

  Emma challenged him with her stare. She didn’t owe this man an explanation. “I think you’re out of line, Hawley,” she added with as much force as she could muster, emphasizing his last name.

  He shook his head as if something had just occurred to him, and laughed scornfully. “My apologies, Miss Waterston,” he said, sounding anything but apologetic. The muscles along his jaw tightened. “Since it’s improper to talk to you, please excuse me. I’ve got work to do.”

  He tipped the brim of his cap with his index and middle fingers, nodded curtly, and marched from the barn. Emma stared after him. Relief should have been her first reaction that he was leaving, but it was regret that flowed through her. Regret for trying to put him in his proper place. Emma mentally shook her head. He was nothing but a rude barn employee, even if she’d pegged him wrong about his job title.

  She faced the horse, turning away from the man’s retreating form, but his words lingered in her mind. He’d thought she was different from the Bentons.

  Emma scoffed. How right he was. She was different from them. At least she hadn’t forgotten how to act like a convincing member of the elite. She’d obviously fooled Hawley . . . Sam.

  Patting the mare’s nose a final time, she sighed, and slipped out of the barn, leaving through the opposite doors that Hawley had taken. At least no one had seen her in the barn, alone with the hired help. No doubt Lizzy Benton was looking for her at this point.

  Inhaling deeply, she made her way back to the house, and an afternoon filled with dress fittings and sipping tea with her future mother-in-law. Perhaps she could slip away for a while and write a letter to her friends.

  Chapter Nine

  Sam rotated his shoulder and hissed. He worked his arm into the sleeve of his shirt and stood from sitting on his bunk. It had been three days since Dusty had struck him with his hoof, and the pain hadn’t gone away.
Gus had rubbed liniment on it every day and kept it wrapped, but it hadn’t helped.

  At least the colt had settled down. Lonnie had seen that Sam had turned Dusty out for several hours each day, but hadn’t approached him again. David Benton had left on some so-called business a few days ago. To the best of Sam’s knowledge, he hadn’t been back. With Benton gone, Lonnie had been a lot more agreeable to Sam’s training methods.

  Sam shook his head, his mind drifting to other things again besides Dusty’s training. Why had Benton left the farm when his fiancée had just arrived? The bastard had no appreciation for anything or anyone. Apparently, he had the same attitude toward his future wife. He shrugged. Why did he waste time even thinking about . . . her?

  Sam left his room and glanced around the small kitchen of the cottage he shared with Gus. The old man poured two mugs of steaming coffee, then faced Sam and held one out to him. Sam reached for it with his left hand out of habit. He grimaced at the pain the action brought to his arm.

  “Maybe you oughta go see Millie. Don’t look like the liniment is helping.”

  “I’ll be fine in another few days.” Sam sipped at the bitter brew.

  Gus tilted his head and shot him a quizzical stare. “It ain’t like you to be so stubborn,” he remarked. With a groan, he lowered himself into one of the kitchen chairs. “You’re always chastising me for not taking care of my aches and pains. Maybe you oughta take your own advice.”

  Sam walked to the window and stared out. From where he stood, the path leading up to the big house was visible through the foliage of the trees. The early morning sun reflected off the mist that hovered over the pastures, giving the grass an almost blue hue like its name implied. He sipped at his coffee again.

  “Might there be a different reason why you’re so dead set against going up to the main house?” The snigger in Gus’ question was easy to hear. Sam didn’t have to turn to see that the old man had a grin on his face.