Midnight Caller (Moonlight Romance) by Haley Whitehall

Author:Haley Whitehall [Whitehall, Haley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Published: 2013-08-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Emma crawled into bed alone again. Tomorrow night Frederick would sleep next to her. She would just have to dream about him one more time. She closed her eyes and sighed. She pictured Frederick sliding his large hands down her soft curves, his calluses gently brushing her tender skin. He leaned his tall frame over her, kissing her until her knees buckled.

She would tell him how to touch her, how to hold her. Her reoccurring dream would come true in a few hours.

She opened up the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out her family Bible. It was the only connection she had to her family besides a pendant her mama had given her. She ran her hands over the black leather cover, worn with age and use. Turning a couple pages, she found the family tree written first by her great-grandmother, added to by her grandmother and then her mama.

She touched her great-grandmother’s name, the black ink slanted and fading. Zoe Dixon had risked it all for love. She’d paid for it too, but Mama had said she was happy.

Did she have the courage to do the same thing?

If only her mama was here to counsel her. She’d been on her own since the age of fifteen.

Her mama’s life had been hard. She died saying she wanted better for her daughter. So far she followed her mama’s advice. She married Hank because she knew it would have made her mama happy. A respected man with enough money to take care of her, never having to worry about her basic needs.

She could have that life again with Mr. Hawthorne. He didn’t have as much money as Hank, but he’d make sure she was clothed and fed.

It just wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to be taken care of. She wanted to be loved.

She looked up at the ceiling. “What should I do?” she whispered.

The terrified neighing of a horse answered her, stopping her heart. She jumped to her feet. Throwing on her coat, she ran outside in her nightgown. Smoke thickened the air, and she put her arm over her mouth and nose. Her barn was still standing. She couldn’t tell where the smoke was coming from. She ran in the barn to see if the fire was inside. Her carriage horses were on edge, they didn’t like the smell of smoke. They pranced in their stalls, and neighed in nervous protest, but were fine.

The warning clang of bells and banging of drums echoed throughout the night.

Fire.

Bits of ash landed on her clothing as she left the barn.

She tensed, straining to listen over the thunderous pounding of the fire horses—hoofs racing and striking the well-worn road. The horses pulled wagons carrying the steamer and other equipment to the fire. A dog’s shrill yip rang out. The Dalmatian was on duty running beside the horses.

Men shouted orders too muffled to understand. She held her breath and could make out the crackling of the flames licking some poor house or barn.

Where were they going?

She glanced around, but could not see any flames.

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