regrets at once. It was one thing to disobey her father by following God’s leading to become a nurse. It was quite another to pursue her own willful yearnings into the arms of a married man.
Picking up the pen, she dipped it into the inkwell on the silver tray and wrote on a clean sheet of paper.
Dear Mr. King,
I cannot speak with you again. Please forgive me.
Emmaline Pickering
She blew on the ink to dry it, then she slipped the letter into the envelope and thanked the servant. The man nodded and set off down the hall toward the stairs.
“Was it from him?” Cissy rose from her chair. “Did Mr. King send up his calling card?”
“He asked to speak with me. I wrote that I couldn’t go down.”
Emma moved to the washstand and surveyed her reflection. Her cheek bore a pink bruise and her lips were still swollen. She poured cool water into the basin and splashed it on her face.
Why must she honor her father by complying with his wishes? Look what he had done to her. His mistreatment was insufferable. Yet suffer she would. The opportunity to ask Adam about a mission hospital had been lost. She would have to pry the information from Mr. Bond, even though he probably knew little beyond railroads and waltzing.
Praying for peace, Emma stepped to her trunk and took out a beige traveling skirt and a white blouse. Cissy helped Emma into her corset and began to lace it up the back.
“You ought to go down to him. Father has no right to tell us what we may and may not do.”
“He is our father, Cissy.”
“Yes, but we’re grown women now. We must be allowed to make up our own minds.”
Cissy tightened the laces, then Emma slipped on her chemise and pulled her tangled waves of hair through it. She fastened her petticoat and skirt at her waist, while Cissy began to dress. Emma was buttoning her blouse when a sharp ping sounded at the window.
“Whatever can that be? A monkey?” Cissy stepped to the window and gasped. “Upon my word, Emma! It’s your cowboy. He’s…he’s…”
Emma hurried to her sister’s side. As they crowded onto the balcony, they saw Adam on the grass below, spinning a looped rope over his head. His face was lit with the golden light of early morning, and Emma caught her breath at the glow in his blue eyes. Suddenly he released the rope, and both girls drew back as it sailed through the air, landed on the tin roof and slipped around a projecting drainpipe.
“Emma—oh, dear—he’s climbing up here!” Cissy squealed, clutching her sister’s arm.
Watching the rope pull taut against Adam’s weight, Emma gripped the curtain as if the thin lace might somehow hide her. She could not let him see what her father had done.
“Cissy, what can we do?” she cried. “If Father sees Adam climbing up to our balcony, he’ll have the poor man tossed in jail.”
“I can’t bear it. I’m going into the sitting room!”
“Wait, Cissy. Stay with me!” But it was too late. Her sister fled and Adam was halfway up the wall.
Adam hoisted himself onto the balcony, swinging one leg at a time over the rail. Not an easy task for a man with spurs on his boots and a six-shooter at his side. One thing he knew for sure—he hadn’t been spotted by a compound guard.
The sight of Emma Pickering peering out from behind the curtain confirmed his decision to see her again. Her green eyes shone with a mixture of apprehension and joy. Her thick wavy hair gleamed like a field of wheat rippling in the wind. He had done the right thing.
“Good morning, Miss Pickering.” He took off his hat and leaned against the white window frame.
“Mr. King, did you not receive my message?” She was almost breathless. “I cannot speak with you.”
“I got your note, but I need to talk. Mind if I come inside?”
“Indeed, sir, you may not take another step!”
“Can we just talk for a minute or two?” he asked.
“Mr. King, I have already told you I’m unavailable. Now please let yourself down by that…that rope thing, and—”
“My lasso?” He began coiling his lariat.
“Sir, this is unseemly.”
Adam studied the intriguing eyes peering at him around the curtain. Emma was edgy this morning. Almost frightened. Different from the bold young woman he had met yesterday.
He couldn’t let that concern him, he decided as he tucked away the end of the rope. Last night after he left the consulate, he had made up his mind to keep things strictly business with Emma Pickering.
“I’ll leave after I’ve had my say,” he told her. “This is important.”
“Speak quickly, sir. My father must not find you here.”
“With all due respect, Emma, do you think I’m concerned about what your father thinks?”
“You may not care, but I do. What do you want from me?”
“I need a nurse.”
Her face suffused with surprise. “A nurse? Are you ill?”
“Not for me. I have a friend—at my ranch.”
“Your wife is surely tending to this friend in your absence.” She paused a moment. “You are married, are you not?”
“Not the last time I looked.”
“Really? Well, then…” Her eyes deepened in concern as she let the curtain drop a little. “What sort of illness does your friend have? Can you describe it?”
Adam looked away, his attention skirting across the tops of the palm trees. How could he explain the situation without scaring her off?
“It’s not an illness. It’s more like…” Searching for the right words, he turned back to Emma. But at the first full sight of her face, he reached through the open window and pulled the curtain out of her hands.
“Emma, what happened to you?” He caught her arm and drew her toward him. “Who did this?”
She raised her hand in a vain effort to cover her cheek and eye. “It’s nothing,” she protested, trying to back away. “Please, Mr. King, you must not…not…”
Even as she tried to speak, he stepped through the balcony door and gathered her into his arms. Brushing back the hair from her cheek, he noted the swelling and the darkening stain around it.
“Emma,” he growled. “Who did this to you?”
She fell motionless, silent in his embrace as he stroked her tender skin with his fingertips. No wonder she had shied like
