He studied her in silence, his face a contrast of emotions that he couldn't hide. What she saw looked like confusion, pity, and anger all rolled up into his stern expression. When he spoke, his voice was low and deep and whipped across her fragile state of mind. "You lied to me."
She knew the accusation was true and all she could do was nod her head in confirmation as she dropped he eyes from his.
"Why the hell would you lie about something like that?" His words were spoken in tones of censure.
She couldn't tell him the truth. That the way he'd looked at her had been an enigma to her that tantalized her and made her want more of the same. Besides, that was why she had continued with the lie.
"I don't know, exactly. I was confused and scared. I didn't know who you were or what you wanted from me. When you came up on the scene at the stagecoach, I needed you to be a good guy. But I was terrified you weren't. Everything about you terrified me. I watched your eyes when you discovered the dead man. They seemed remote, almost lifeless. And then I watched as you calmly rolled a cigarette. Your reaction didn't seem appropriate, I guess. I had no reason to trust you." Her words faltered. "I wasn't thinking straight, Luke."
Luke felt gutted at her explanation. The fact that she had seen him as nothing more than an unfeeling monster caused an ache in the pit of his gut that he wouldn't even acknowledge. He gave her a layered, black look and the explanation he offered was ripped impatiently from his throat. "I saw your belongings in the coach. I knew when I saw the needlework on the seat that a woman had been there. There were only a few explanations for your absence. The one I chose to believe was that you were hiding nearby, because if you weren't that meant they'd either taken you with them, or I was going to find your naked and bruised body, and both those scenarios were too obscene for me to think about. I hoped like hell you were hiding. That's the only thing I can remember feeling at the time. I put the dead man out of my mind and turned my focus to you, trying to find you, because there wasn't a damn thing I could do to help him anymore."
Emma listened to his resounding explanation and so much was explained to her with the insight. She felt doubly guilty that she'd lied to him. And not only that, that she had kept lying to him. Her mind was troubled and she considered telling him the whole truth about herself. But she knew that he would see to it that she was taken into town, and she needed the cloak of respectability that widowhood would bring. She couldn't take the chance that no one else would find out. She'd been living with that one fabrication for so long that she knew it was armor that needed to stay in place.
Her thoughts were interrupted when his arms swooped out and he picked her up and began carrying her through the house toward the bedroom she'd been using.
Shouldering his way through the open door, he walked over to the bed and carefully sat her down on the edge where her legs dangled over the side. Emma's heart was pulsing in rapid beats as he knelt in front of her. "How'd it happen?" His voice was harsh and questioning, as if he had every right to hear the story.
Emma was too shocked to speak when he lifted her right foot and began unlacing her sturdy shoe and removing it from her foot. She watched, unable to move, as he rolled her serviceable stocking from her leg and off her foot.
When she didn't answer him immediately, he stalled his movements, held her bare foot in his hands and looked up at her face and demanded an answer. "Emma. How'd it happen?"
She shook her head back and forth, her hair flying around her face. "What--what are you doing?"
"Checking it out for myself." His voice was gruff and Emma hung in shocked suspension as he began shoving her skirt and twin petticoats up her leg until they were at mid-thigh and her limb was bare to him, toes to thigh.
She finally found her voice, "Stop that!" she shrieked.
He retaliated immediately with a small slap to her bare thigh that shocked but barely hurt as his voice rang out, "Be still!"
She was so startled by his movements that she offered no more objection as he began running his hands up and down her leg, much as he would examined a horse for injuries. His touch was quick and seemed impersonal, but his fingers were strong and the calluses on his hands were rough on her skin as they ran up both sides of her ankle, cupped her calf, and then inspected her knee as if it were nothing more than a hinge on a door.
She held completely still as his hand slid back down her shin bone and then smoothly up again until it reached her thigh. He placed both hands around her thigh, and with firm strokes, rubbed up and down, searching for the answer as to why her leg wasn't working properly.
His hands lingered on her thigh and when her skirt was in danger of being pushed all the way to the vee between her legs, she sucked in a breath and pushed her hands down until she was holding the material tightly in her hands against her upper thighs.
When he'd touched and examined to his satisfaction, he kneeled back on his haunches and cradled her ankle in his hands, her foot propped against the hard muscles of his stomach. Her breath came quickly and became tangled in her throat.
"How'd it happen, Emma?" His hands caressed her absently.
"May I have my foot back please?" she asked.
Luke held her tightly by the ankle and heard the starch in her voice. "No, you may not," he answered in kind. "Answer the question."
Her flesh prickled at his continued touch, and shivers of delight were racing along her nerve endings. The feelings were altogether confusing and she thought it might be best to answer his question and then maybe he would release her. "I fell from a tree when I was a child."
"How old?"
"Twelve."
"Tomboy?"
Emma understood what he was asking with the one-word question. "Yes."
"Poor baby," he commiserated as his hands slid farther up her leg with every stroke. "Bad break?"
"Yes. I've had second and third opinions and been told that the doctor who set my leg was quite competent. It was a very bad break." Her voice stalled as if it was a terrible memory. "The bone protruded from the skin, you see."
"Here?" he questioned as his hand ran to a scar below her knee and to the right of her shin.
"Yes."
His eyes held hers as his hand swirled over the area as if he might soothe it in some small way.
"Does it still pain you?" She saw a tic in his cheek as he asked the question.
"Very seldom, and only when I abuse it," she answered, trying to make her voice sound matter-of-fact.
His eyes narrowed and his brows pulled together in a frown. "Like you did today?" His voice had gone low again, with an unmistakable threat of retribution coming from it.
Emma knew she'd made a mistake with that answer as soon as it left her mouth and made no reply to his softly spoken accusation.
His hands dropped to her other leg and he began stripping off the shoe and stocking from her other foot with economical motions.
"What are you doing now?" Goosebumps formed on her arms and legs as a shiver of reaction took hold.
"Getting you into bed. I want you to rest this leg."
"But I'm not hurt." Her words were a denial.
He had finished his task and lifted her legs and swiveled her body until she was prone on the bed. He picked up the duvet that was folded at the foot of the bed and shook it out and then spread it over her. "That's not the point. I think you need to rest and that's what you're gonna do."
Emma clutched the blanket to her chin and leaned against the pillows as he stared down at her. "You're being unreasonable."
He didn't respond to that but switched subjects altogether. "How old are you?" he asked with a hint of perplexity in his voice.
"Twenty-two." She didn't know where he was going with his line of questioning.
He moved away and shoved her footwear under the dresser and then turned back to her. "Who's been taking care of you since you're husband died?"
His words made her feel like an imbecile and she bristled under the covers. "I take care of myself."
He stood with his hand on the door and his eyes ran up and down her length, hidden under the covers. He gave her a small smile that seemed to contain a warning instead of any humor and his voice came out like a softly-spoken threat, "You used to take care of yourself."
With his words still ringing in her ears, the door clicked shut behind him.
Chapter Seven
Although is seemed next to impossible with the horror of the fresh memory of the snakes in her mind and Luke's scent both a physical reminder that he had been in her bedroom and of what had transpired, Emma did actually fall into a hard sleep and spent a good part of the afternoon in much needed slumber.
She didn't realize how late it was until she stood in front of the dresser mirror, repairing her hair and she heard a short, single knock on her door, and without any other warning, Luke walked unannounced into her room.
She dropped her hands from her hair and steadied herself on the dresser. He held a tray in his hands, and walked into the room and placed it on the bedside table. The aroma of beef stew and fresh bread activated her stomach and her subdued appetite came screaming back to make itself heard.
He bent down to adjust the knob on the kerosene lantern, and the dim light coming in from the setting sun was enhanced by the addition of the lamp.