Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) by Sharlene MacLaren Page A

Winthrop asked, arms dropping to her sides.
    The gun went down. "You sick?" Ezra asked.
    "You sick?" asked an altogether different voice, this one faceless
and from some distant place, its timbre soft and almost melodic. He
fumbled his way through a sudden fog, trying to identify its owner.
This is a dream, he assured himself. Wake up.
    He put a hand to his forehead and let it linger there. Eyes
heavy, he fought to open then, but they felt like lead blankets.
    "You sick?" she repeated. "You're sweatin' bad as a fireman walkin' on ashes."
    His meandering mind finally made it back to the present,
and when it did, his eyes shot open in a flash. Emma Browning
jumped back as if she'd just witnessed a ghost coming out of its
skin. Jon bolted upright, swabbed his damp brow, and stared
at the jumpy woman who'd squelched his nightmare.

     

asked if you're sick." The skittish expression gone, Emma
now wore a look of impatient smugness.
    "Why does everybody keep asking me that?" Jon hauled
his legs over the side of the bed and shook his head, trying to
rid it of the few remaining cobwebs.
    "What?"
    "Never mind. What time is it?"
    "A quarter past six. The others are eating their supper. I
called, but you didn't come down. The food don't last a long
time around here, so if you don't cone on the first call, you
could be out of luck. And after today I won't be checkin' on
ya.
    He swiped a hand over his face then wove it through his
unruly head of hair before peering down at his bare feet. He
was a disheveled mess, and he could only imagine what he
looked like from Emma Browning's perspective. He noticed
that she kept her eyes trained on something just over the top
of his head. Was there something else amiss about his appearance, or had she never seen a barefooted man before?
    "Thanks for the warning," he muttered, giving his head
another shake. "I guess I was more tired than I wanted to
believe. I never expected to sleep through supper."
    "I suppose you have been busy moving." She made a sweep
of the room with her silvery blue eyes. "You're all settled in
then?" she asked, still refusing to meet his gaze. She clasped
her hands at her waist, and he noted a torn sleeve and several
smudge marks on the front of her dress, no doubt from tending to her myriad house chores. Did the woman ever stop to rest?
A passel of guilt for having taken time out for a midday nap
pestered his conscience.

    "I haven't unpacked those boxes full of books yet, but
everything I'll ever need is right here in this very room. Left
all my furniture behind except for that desk and chair." He
pointed to the country walnut desk and matching swivel office
chair he'd stuffed in the corner of the room and to the left of
the window. "Ben Broughton helped nie carry them up the
steps. I don't think you were home that day."
    She nodded and strolled across the room to run a hand
over the desktop. Looking for dust, was she? He never had
been much for tidying up. That was another reason he was
glad to be rid of the house. Smaller living space meant smaller
mess. She gave the wooden chair a couple of twirls with her
index finger.
    "I inherited both from a kindly seminary professor after
he retired."
    She turned her slip of a frame around to face him. "Teacher's pet?" she asked with a glimmer of mischief.
    "In a manner of speaking, I guess. He took me under his
wing that first year and every year thereafter. Students called
nie hard-luck-Kentuck. I didn't have one dine to rub against
another, and I guess it showed. It must've been that single pair
of gray trousers, white shirt, black bow-tie, and frock coat I
wore every day of the week." She gave a gentle laugh, and the
sound washed over hint like fresh spring water. "It wasn't long,
though, before the professor's wife got wind of nie and started
collecting used clothes from every source imaginable." He
shook his head. "You should have seen the assortment. Out of
respect I wore some