The Ballad of Emma O'Toole by Elizabeth Lane

canopy that draped the double bed. Twin cupids were carved into the headboard. The bedclothes, which had been turned down, looked as thick and soft as fresh winter snow.
    It was the most elegant bed Emma had ever seen. But she would sleep on the cold, hard floor before she’d share it with Logan Devereaux.
    Aside from the issue of the bed, the room was warmly inviting. A fresh blaze crackled in the small, tiled stove, which was flanked by two high-backed rockers upholstered in green velvet. A Turkish carpet in hues of rose, pink and green covered the floor. A tall wardrobe, with full-length mirrors on the double doors, stood in one corner. On the far wall, a doorway opened into a bathroom with a tub, a basin and—wonder of wonders—a flush toilet.
    Hands thrust into his pockets, Logan surveyedtheir quarters. “Well, is this place fine enough to suit you, Mrs. Devereaux?”
    “You needn’t make fun of me,” Emma said. “I’m not ashamed of how I’ve had to live or the honest work I’ve done to survive. If you must have my answer, I judge this place to be a little
too
fine for sensible taste.”
    He chuckled, his smile a flash of white against the deep gold of his skin. She knew nothing about the man’s background, Emma realized, except that he’d made his living as a gambler.
    “I wasn’t making fun of you, Emma,” he said. “You’ve a level head, a quick wit and a determined spirit—qualities I admire in a woman. I’m hoping we can at least be friends.”
    “Friends!” Anger, combined with frustration and bone deep weariness, burst out of her. “I’d rather be friends with a rattlesnake!”
    He exhaled, raking a hand through his rumpled black hair. “Fine, have it your way. Tomorrow you can rail at me to your heart’s content. But tonight I’m worn raw and as grumpy as a buckshot bear. All I want is to eat dinner, go to bed and try to forget the past ten days ever happened.” He glanced toward the bathroom. “Ladies first. But try not to take too much time or you might find me pounding on the door.”
    “Oh!”
With an indignant huff, Emma wheeled and bolted into the bathroom. Slamming the door behind her and clicking the lock, she sank onto the edge of the tub and buried her face in her hands. Her body shook with dry sobs. How had she gotten herself into this awful mess? And how was she going to get out of it?
    She could offer Logan a divorce. He would certainly be glad to oblige. But that would take away her power to punish him. Even more vital was the matter of support for herself and her child. Maybe she could survive in a run-down miner’s shanty with no money. But her baby could easily sicken and die in such a place. She couldn’t risk her precious child for the sake of her pride.
    She’d considered selling Billy John’s claim for whatever she could get. But who would buy a worthless outcrop that hadn’t yielded enough silver to buy a decent pair of boots?
    It was time she stopped blubbering and faced reality. For now at least, she needed what a husband could provide—food, shelter and security. She would accept that much as her due. But as for the rest, she knew she could never love Logan, and she certainly couldn’t expect him to love her. She was trapped in this arrangement, just as he was.
    By the time Emma had finished with the bathroom, dinner had arrived. Two covered plates sat on an oval silver tray, along with gleaming cutlery and linen napkins rolled into silver rings. The stemmed crystal glasses were so delicate that Emma feared they might shatter if she breathed on them.
    The staff had also delivered a leather valise that Logan explained he’d left before his arrest. He had it in hand as he stepped into the bathroom.
    “I know you’re hungry,” he said. “Go ahead and eat. No need to wait for me.”
    As the bathroom door closed, Emma took her seat. The tray sat on the small table between the two chairs. Its elegance caused Emma to hesitate. She’d never eaten such a