Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) Read Online Free

to light up, he took
his habit outside. She scowled. Even from here, she could smell
the nicotine smoke as it drifted past the open window.
    She swabbed her damp brow with the corner of her apron
and looked out over the street, still abuzz with activity. Come
morning, the streets would be blessedly peaceful again, save
the usual traffic. There would be the clip-clop of horses'
hooves, the occasional shouted greeting, and the scurrying
feet of children racing up the sidewalk, but not the clack and
clamor of hundreds of extra folks swirling dust into the hot,
dry air, dropping debris along the way, and talking in fast,
excited voices about the upcoming fireworks display.
    "Heard Hickman's boozehound is out back sleepin' it off,"
muttered Mr. Clayton, obviously unaware that Emma stood in
the window behind hire. The rocking chair lie sat in sang a
slow, mournful tune as lie set it in notion. "Miss Emma and the reverend dropped him in that old horse trough. Guess they made
quite the trio traipsin' up Main Street, Ezra trippin' over his own
feet whilst Enmia and that preacher fella dragged him along."

    Harland Collins let out a nighty chuckle, rubbed his
whiskered jowls, then took a deep draw on his cigarette before
blowing out a perfect smoke ring. Emma hung back in the
shadows, glad she'd chosen not to light the parlor lanips. Up
the street, the tinny sounds of Madam Guttersnipe's piano
filled the dusky night.
    "Yep, had to be quite a sight," Harland was saying, looking out over the street. He lifted a hand to wave at a passerby.
"Don't imagine Ezra will remember a thing come mornin', but
the ones spectatin' shore will. It's a dirty shame what that little
lady has to put up with."
    "Pfff. Tain't nothin' new for her," Wes argued. "Miss
Emma's been puttin' up with that beerified ragbag since she
was a little missy. Cain't have been easy on her, though, 'specially with no mania to fend ter 'er. No wonder she's so full o'
vinegar. Had to learn life the hard way."
    Emma hated that she was the focus of their discussion;
even more that she'd garnered their sympathy. She needed
no one's pity, leastways not from these two old coots. She had
a mind to march out the back door and toss a bucket of slops
over that worthless, sleeping fool. It was, after all, entirely his
fault that folks were talking about her.
    Not for the first time Emma brooded over the mother she'd
never had and wondered how different life might have been.
Would she be living in Little Hickman today, or might her mother
have whisked her away at a young age, perhaps straight from her
cradle, and into some distant, remote place, far from Ezra Browning's reach? Like so many times before, she imagined the sceneEmma, a mere babe, snatched from her bed in the wee hours of morning into a waiting carriage driven by some noble defender,
wrapped safely in her mother's warm embrace. Of course, they
would have traveled miles, maybe even crossing over the Tennessee border, before Ezra finally awoke from his drunken stupor
and discovered their absence. Naturally, it would've been futile
to go in search of them, for they would have covered their tracks
so skillfully. And, besides, Ezra would have lacked the town's help
and support, for everyone would have silently applauded the
young mother for her indomitable strength and courage.

    Eninia shook her head as if to ward off her foolish meanderings. Who was she kidding? Lydia Baxter Browning had
died giving birth to her, and the only proof Emma had that
she'd even existed was a tattered photograph she kept between
the pages of a book. Matter of fact, Emma didn't even have
grandparents as far as she knew.
    Maybe Mr. Clayton was right; she'd learned life the hard
way, and it had made her the person she was today, strong
and self-sufficient. If people mistook that for bitter and steelyedged, well, so be it. She wasn't here to impress anybody, least
of all the nien living under her