2
" Macon grinned as a white-haired man with pale, bushy eyebrows approached. He was wearing a light-colored suit, like most of the men around him, and there was a black string tie at his throat. His blue eyes were gentle as they moved from Steven’s face to Emma’s, and he extended a hand to her. “Hello, Emma,” he said simply. Emma’s gaze shifted to Steven as he was led away roughly, and tears gathered on her lashes, blinding her. She wanted to scream that he was innocent, but she knew that would only make bad matters worse. While a smug Macon watched Steven disappear, the old man smiled at Emma and offered her his handkerchief. “Since my grandson hasn’t troubled himself to introduce us,” he said, with a sour glance at Macon, “I’ll do the honors. I’m Cyrus Fairfax, and now that you’ve joined the family I consider myself your granddaddy.” Emma dried her eyes and squared her shoulders. She would be no use to Steven if she crumpled into a heap of self-pity and despair. “I’m Emma,” she said, even though she realized he already knew that. “And my husband didn’t kill anyone.” “I tend to agree with you,” Cyrus replied, laying his hand lightly on the small of Emma’s back and steering her toward the steps of the platform. “While we’re waiting for the rest of the world to come around to our way of thinking, we’ll get to know each other.” Emma’s gratitude was almost as overwhelming as her despondency. If it hadn’t been for Cyrus’s appearance at the station, she would have been left alone with Macon. And that was a prospect she certainly didn’t relish. Linking "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
3
" In another two minutes, if he didn’t turn to the right, they were going to pass directly in front of the First Territorial Bank. Emma clutched his upper arm and immediately withdrew when she felt the granite-hardness of his muscles beneath her fingers. “I don’t want Fulton to see us!” she protested in a somewhat frantic whisper, as though Fulton might have spies stationed in the branches of the elms and maples along the sides of the street. “I’m afraid he probably will,” Steven lamented without any conviction at all, as he continued past the last turn that would have saved Emma from certain exposure. “Sorry, Miss Emma, but there was nothing in our agreement about avoiding the banker.” Emma looked down at the hard-packed dirt of the road and calculated that she’d probably turn an ankle if she jumped, not to mention ruining her favorite spring dress. She folded her arms. “You’re deliberately trying to compromise me.” “Oh, no, Miss Emma,” Steven assured her suavely, tilting the brim of that obnoxious hat just for a moment. “I haven’t even started on that yet.” Emma folded her arms across her bosom and glared straight ahead. “I will not miss you when you leave,” she said coldly. “In fact, I will celebrate.” They "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
5
" Look at me,” he said hoarsely. Emma brought her eyes to his face and swallowed hard. It was so good to be close to him again, in spite of everything, that she wanted to weep. “What are you doing here?” “I told you,” she said with some effort, gently knotting the bandage to make it stay. “I wanted to warn you about your brother.” He stood and led her around behind a stand of trees and brush, where he took a seat on a birch stump. Then he pulled her downward, so that she was sitting astraddle of his lap. “You took some big chances, Miss Emma. I want to know why.” Emma lowered her eyes. “Because I love you, Mr. Fairfax,” she replied in a soft, broken voice. Steven was silent for such a long time that Emma feared he was going to send her away. When she finally brought herself to meet his gaze, she was amazed to see that he was smiling. “You love me?” “Yes, God help me,” Emma sighed. Her arms went around his neck. “I love you so much, it hurts.” “Even though you’re not sure whether I’m a killer or not?” Emma nodded sadly. He laughed, and it was a joyful, raucous sound. His hands interlocked at the small of Emma’s back, he planted a noisy kiss on her mouth. “If I didn’t know those cowboys up there would tell the story around the campfire for years to come, I’d take you right now.” She would have responded wholeheartedly, but she fancied she could hide the knowledge from Steven. He put his hand under her chin and lifted. “I love you,” he said firmly. Emma had feared never to hear those words from him, and relief made her sigh and rest her forehead against his. "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
8
" If you don’t take me with you,” she said, “I will follow you to New Orleans, and if you don’t believe me, just wait and see. I won’t be left behind, Steven.” A muscle in his jaw bunched in suppressed anger; Steven knew Emma meant what she said. “All right, then, we’ll compromise. We’ll be married when we get to Spokane. That’ll give you some protection against Macon, but remember this, Emma—if they hang me, don’t wait around for the funeral. Macon wasn’t bluffing—the minute the life goes out of me, he’ll take you to bed, whether you want to go or not.” Emma "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
9
" I’ll stand by you, no matter what happens.” To her surprise and hurt, Steven shook his head. “No. You’re going to Whitneyville, not Louisiana. Until I’ve cleared my name, I won’t have anything to offer you. Besides, what if I’m convicted, and I’m not there to protect you from Macon?” A chill travelled down Emma’s spine, for she knew Steven could just as easily hang as be acquitted, given the fact that his adversary was Macon, a determined man bent on revenge. “If you don’t take me with you,” she said, “I will follow you to New Orleans, and if you don’t believe me, just wait and see. I won’t be left behind, Steven.” A muscle in his jaw bunched in suppressed anger; Steven knew Emma meant what she said. “All right, then, we’ll compromise. We’ll be married when we get to Spokane. That’ll give you some protection against Macon, but remember this, Emma—if they hang me, don’t wait around for the funeral. Macon wasn’t bluffing—the minute the life goes out of me, he’ll take you to bed, whether you want to go or not.” Emma was bruised inside. She was in love, really and truly in love, for the first time in her life. And her marriage might last no longer than a murder trial. Her eyes filled with tears. She embraced Steven even more tightly and looked up into his face. “There’ll be no funeral, Mr. Fairfax,” she said fiercely. “At least, not for forty or fifty years.” He kissed her forehead. “Promise me you’ll leave New Orleans the same day, if the verdict goes against us. I have to know that you won’t even go back to Fairhaven for your things, Emma. Do I have your word?” She nodded, albeit grudgingly. “We’re going to win,” she insisted. “I’m staking everything on that,” Steven replied. And then he kissed Emma thoroughly, and she wanted him to make love to her, right there where they stood. "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
10
" What did he say to you?” he demanded, when they were alone in Chloe’s study, with the doors closed. Emma rubbed her eyes. “Who?” she replied, stalling. Steven only looked at her, his expression wry, his jawline tight. A headache pounded at the base of her skull and she sighed, wishing she could go to her room and lie down with a cold cloth on her head. They both knew Steven was talking about Macon, but Emma didn’t dare admit the man had threatened her again. Steven would get furious, maybe violent, and he might insist on leaving her in Whitneyville until the trial was over, or sending her to Chicago. “He only wanted to dance,” she said, avoiding her husband’s eyes. Steven caught her chin in a rough but painless grasp. “Once and for all, Emma,” he breathed, “don’t lie to me. I won’t tolerate it, not even from you.” Tears gathered in Emma’s lashes. “He said—he said he’d have to teach me n-not to spread my l-legs for killers, once you were gone.” Steven’s face contorted with rage, and he whirled away from Emma and stormed toward the door. She ran after him and caught hold of his arm. “One murder trial is enough,” she cried. “Please, Steven—let it pass!” She watched as a variety of ferocious emotions moved across his face. Finally, Steven shoved the splayed fingers of his right hand through his hair and said, “I want to kill him.” He folded that same hand into a fist and slammed it against the wall. “I want to kill him.” “I know,” Emma said gently. “But it wouldn’t be worth sacrificing all the years ahead, Steven.” He drew her close and held her, and his lips moved in her hair. “When I’m acquitted of killing Mary, the first thing I’m going to do is make love to you. The second thing is beat the hell out of Macon.” Emma smiled up at him. “When I get through with you,” she promised, full of bravado and hope, “you won’t have the strength to beat the hell out of anybody.” Steven chuckled hoarsely. “Is that so?” he retorted. “Well, maybe I’d better take you upstairs right now, Mrs. Fairfax, and find out if you’re bluffing.” “You’ll just have to wait until evening, Mr. Fairfax,” Emma responded airily. “I intend to enjoy our wedding party.” “That was exactly what I had in mind.” Steven grinned. Emma laughed and shook her head, her fears lost again, at least temporarily, in the boundless love she bore this man. Joellen "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
11
" Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Emma made herself meet his eyes. “No,” she said. “I do not.” He chuckled, unmoved, as always, by her discourtesy. “We’re going on a picnic Saturday,” he announced. Emma had had all she could take of Steven Fairfax’s audacity. She glared at him, her cheeks throbbing. “I hardly think that will be possible. You see, I’ve agreed to attend a party with Fulton on Saturday evening.” Steven sighed. “So you’re still seeing the banker, huh?” “Honestly,” Emma snapped, amazed, “you are insufferable. And I’m not going on any picnic with you, now or ever!” The silk crumpled between her clenched fingers, and she nearly stuck herself with the needle. “Perhaps I have finally made myself clear?” He smiled. “I do comprehend what you’re trying to say, Miss Emma. I just disagree with you, that’s all.” Emma hurled down the bodice of the dress she’d been sewing and bolted out of her chair. “What on earth gives you the idea that it matters, whether you and I agree or not?” His eyes glittered with firelight and humor as he watched her. “You are indeed a beauty, Miss Emma—the kind of prize a man dreams of winning. Win you I will, and when I do, I intend to have you well and often.” A tremor of mingled fury and desire coursed through Emma’s slender frame. “What will it take to make you go away and leave me alone?” she whispered, clasping her hands together as though she were praying. Steven drew her to him without moving, without extending a hand. Before she knew what was happening, Emma was standing on the hearth, looking up into his face. He touched her lips, very lightly, with his finger, sending a storm of fire all through her. “Go on the picnic with me,” he said quietly. “Then if you still want me to leave, I will.” Emma’s eyes widened. She felt hope, but also a raw sort of dismay. “You mean you’ll actually saddle your horse and leave Whitneyville entirely? You won’t even work on Big John’s ranch anymore?” “That’s right,” Steven answered hoarsely, winding an escaped tendril of Emma’s blaze-colored hair around the same finger that had caressed her lips. “If you can tell me you never want to see me again after our picnic, I’ll ride out.” Emma bit her lip and laid one hand to her heart, as though to slow its rapid beat so Steven wouldn’t hear it. “But the dance…” “You’ll be back in plenty of time for that.” Within Emma’s breast, reason and whimsy did battle. And as so often happened where this man was concerned, whimsy won. “All right,” she sighed with resolution. “But I expect you to keep your word.” She waggled a finger at him. “There’ll be no backing out after I say I never want to see you again.” He bent his head and kissed her lightly, tantalizingly, on the lips. “You have my word of honor,” he told her between soft samplings of her mouth that sent sweet shocks jolting to her nerve endings. Emma "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
12
" Why do you dislike Fulton so much? I do believe you’re pleased that I’m going on a picnic with an outlaw—a man you said yourself was probably just one step ahead of real trouble.” “My reasons for not liking Fulton are my own business,” Chloe replied. “You’d see what’s wrong with him for yourself if you’d just open your eyes. And I’ve changed my mind about you seeing Mr. Fairfax because Big John says he’s solid as bedrock. Fact is, I think he could bring out a side of you the rest of us have never seen.” Reflecting on the way she’d responded to Steven’s kisses, Emma dropped her eyes. “Maybe that side is better left alone,” she said, feeling a stirring of desire as well as shame. “Nonsense,” Chloe said briskly, “it’s as much a part of you as that lovely copper-colored hair of yours and your blue eyes. You’re a woman now, Emma, and it’s time you stopped trying to mold yourself into a bluestocking.” I’m terrified of that other Emma, she thought. “My mother had a passionate side,” she observed aloud. “It brought her to ruin and made her give up her own children.” “She was weak,” Chloe insisted. Emma recalled how easily Steven had been able to make her submit to him. “Perhaps I’m weak, too.” “Only where one man is concerned, I think,” was Chloe’s reply. She rose from her chair and yawned daintily. “I’ll be off to bed now. It’s been a long day.” “Good night,” Emma said, standing. Chloe kissed her cheek. “Good night, Emma, dear. And don’t stay up half the night berating yourself because some cowboy can make your knees melt. It just means you’re a normal, healthy woman, that’s all.” Emma "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
13
" The moment he stepped outside, Macon materialized out of the darkness, as quickly as if he’d been a part of it. “Just making sure you don’t decide to take to your heels again,” Steven’s half-brother remarked as they walked along the wooden sidewalk. “I’m not going to do that and you know it,” Steven responded, never looking at Macon. “You just want to make me as miserable as you possibly can.” “You don’t know the meaning of the word misery,” Macon answered blithely. “But you will when you’re behind bars and I’m bedding that luscious little wife of yours. She’ll claim not to like it at first, probably, but I’ve dealt with her kind before. They tell you they’re not interested, but when you throw them down on a mattress, they’re breathing hard and spreading their thighs for you in a minute. And how they carry on when they come.” Steven lost the battle to control his rage and gripped Macon by the lapels of his coat, flinging him hard against the outside wall of the newspaper office. He followed that with a solid punch to Macon’s solar plexus. Macon made a sound that was half gasp and half laughter, clutching his middle and struggling to catch his breath. “Your mother was just like her,” he choked out. “She was a hot little whore who liked playing games with rich men.” Steven’s hand knotted into a fist again, but this time he held himself in check, realizing that Macon wanted to be struck. He got some kind of perverse pleasure out of it. Filled with contempt, Steven turned to walk away. “You’ll be swinging at the end of a rope by this time next month,” Macon called after him. “And nine months after that Emma will be sweating in childbirth, bearing the first of my bastards!” Steven’s hand flexed over the butt of his pistol, but he didn’t draw. He just kept walking, pretending he hadn’t heard. But "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
14
" Fasten my buttons, please,” she said, turning her back to Daisy. “I’ll fasten your buttons, all right,” Daisy muttered, but she couldn’t hide her amusement at Emma’s good mood. “You just see that young cowboy don’t unfasten ’em again.” Emma stiffened. “Daisy! How could you say such a thing?” “I wasn’t always old an’ fat,” Daisy chortled. “No, siree, I was young once, just like you. Now, you mind your manners and behave like a lady, or I’ll paddle your bottom.” “Fiddlefaddle,” Emma said, but she was smiling when she whirled around to face Daisy, her skirts swishing as she moved. “How do I look?” “Like a tiger lily,” Daisy answered fondly, gathering her apron into her hands. “Lord, but you’re a beauty, chile—no wonder some young fella’s always tryin’ to lead you down the primrose path!” Emma’s smile faded as she wondered how on earth she would resist Steven Fairfax if he got her alone and kissed her. But Daisy laughed at her expression and patted her briskly on the cheek. “Don’t look so fretted up, now—the fella what succeeds, I reckon he’ll be the right one.” To "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
16
" Now, now, Emma, darlin’. You will bear it, because you have to. Your husband is depending on you.” Emma nodded, but she couldn’t stop crying. “I was real proud of you in there,” Cyrus comforted. “You did just fine for a Yankee.” Emma reared back to look into his face and laughed, despite everything, at the mischief she saw in his wise, gentle eyes. “Does it bother you that your grandson married a northerner?” she asked, when she’d recovered herself a little and her sobs had subsided to sniffles. Cyrus smiled. “If you can get used to a bunch of Rebels, we can get used to you. Now, it seems to me that Miss Lucy was right. You’re pretty as a magnolia blossom, but you need some new clothes.” With "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
17
" Obviously enjoying her dilemma, Macon made a point of reiterating his plan to make Emma his paramour. “We’ll begin the evening of his funeral, I think,” he said, grinning as furious color rose in Emma’s face. “You’ll need consoling.” Emma was fairly quaking with rage, but she kept her smile in place and replied, “I’d sooner be a swamp rat’s mistress than yours!” Macon threw back his head and laughed at that, and it made Emma fume to realize the people around them probably thought the exchange was an affectionate one. “Your spirit only makes you more appealing,” he said presently. “I’ll break it, I assure you, if Steven’s hanging doesn’t do it first.” Saliva gathered in Emma’s mouth, but she didn’t quite have the nerve to spit in Macon’s face. “It might not be Steven who hangs,” she blurted out on some wild and ill-advised instinct. “Perhaps the real murderer will be brought to justice.” Catching her implication, Macon went pale with fury and lapsed into a stony silence. When "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
18
" What will you do if Steven’s convicted?” was his question. At first, Emma couldn’t face the thought. Then she allowed the nightmare to take root in her mind and answered. “I’d go away—maybe to Chicago or New York—and try to make a life for myself.” “You wouldn’t stay at Fairhaven?” Cyrus asked and, for all of it, he sounded surprised. Even a little wounded. She told him about Macon’s repeated threats and felt his arm stiffen around her shoulders. “I’d protect you,” he said after a long time. Then with a sigh he added, “But, of course, I’m an old man.” Emma caught one of his hands in both of hers and squeezed it. “I can’t tell you how much your kindness has meant to me. You’ve been so good to Steven—many men would have refused to acknowledge him, let alone take his side in a murder case.” Cyrus smiled sadly. “He’s got my blood flowing in his veins.” Emma frowned. “Why does Macon hate Steven so much?” He sighed. “Because he knows Steven’s a better man than he is. And that makes Macon damn dangerous.” Emma "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
19
" I was hoping—er—thinking—” He went crimson from his neck to his hairline. “Would you dance with me, Miss Emma?” She smiled and offered her hand. “I’d like that very much,” she said, hoping her face didn’t show the ravages of her earlier crying fit. Nathaniel cleared his throat and marshalled Emma awkwardly into a waltz. It seemed strange that, only three years before, she’d been his age. “If Steven or Macon is mean to you,” he ventured boldly, “you just come and tell me. I’ll give ’em what-for.” Resisting an urge to kiss his cheek, because she knew it would embarrass him too much, Emma nodded solemnly. “I’ll do that,” she promised, both amused and touched that Nathaniel was willing to do battle with such formidable opponents for her sake. Nathaniel’s handsome young face was dark with conviction and his palm was moist against Emma’s. “I know you think I’m just a kid, but I’m strong, Miss Emma. I won’t let anybody hurt you.” “Thank you,” Emma said, and she meant it. After "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
20
" Fulton laid a heavy hand on Emma’s knee, there in the larger of Chloe’s two parlors, and Emma quickly set it away. “God’s eyeballs, Emma,” Fulton complained in a sort of whiny whisper, “we’re practically engaged!” “It’s not proper to talk about God’s anatomy,” Emma said stiffly, squinting at the needlework in the stand in front of her before plunging the needle in. “And if you don’t keep your hands to yourself, you’ll just have to go home.” Fulton gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’d think a girl would learn something, living in the same house with Chloe Reese.” Emma’s dark blue eyes were wide with annoyance when she turned them on Fulton. “I beg your pardon?” “Well, I only meant—” “I know what you meant, Fulton.” “A man has a right to a kiss now and then, when he’s willing to promise the rest of his life to a woman!” Emma narrowed her eyes, planning to point out that he wasn’t the only one with a lifetime on the line, but before she could speak, Fulton grabbed her and pressed his dry mouth to hers. She squirmed, wondering why on earth those romantic English novels spoke of kissing as though it were something wonderful, and when she couldn’t get free, she poked Fulton in the hand with her embroidery needle. He gave a shout and jerked back, slapping at his hand as though a bug had lighted there. “Damn it all to perdition!” he barked. Emma calmly rethreaded her needle and went back to embroidering her nosegay. It was a lovely thing of pink, lavender, and white flowers, frothed in baby’s breath. It was never good to let a man get too familiar. “Good night, Fulton,” she said. Stiffly, Fulton stood. “Won’t you even do me the courtesy of walking me to the gate?” he grumbled. Thinking of the respectability that would be hers if she were to marry Fulton someday, Emma suppressed a sigh, secured her needle in the tightly drawn cloth, and rose to her feet. Her arm linked with his, she walked him to the gate. The "
― Linda Lael Miller , Emma and the Outlaw (Orphan Train, #2)
