Emma's Wish

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                                                                        Prologue

 Texas, 1880

 "Please don't send us away, Pa." Six-year-old Nathan tugged on the rolled up sleeve of his father's shirt. "We'll be good. We promise. Don't we, Joseph?"

Beside him, his older brother nodded vigorously, then scrubbed at his tear-stained eyes with his grimy knuckles.

Studying the two boys, Becky's head bobbed in agreement, setting her pale blonde curls bouncing. She was too young to understand the significance of what Sam had just told them, but whatever her brothers did, Becky followed suit, as much as any three-year-old could.

Sam Jenkins raked his fingers through his hair. God, if there was any other way ... But there wasn't. It was the right thing to do. He'd done his best to look after the children and the ranch, if it could be called that - but it wasn't good enough. He was failing at both, and now he had to muster up the courage to do what was best for them, no matter how painful it was. Seeing the children lined up in front of him, looking at him as if he was some kind of monster, just about tore his heart out.

Leaning over, he picked Becky up and settled her on his lap. Her pudgy arms reached up around his neck, and she planted a loud smacking kiss on his cheek.

Swallowing painfully against the grief choking him, he took Nathan's small hand. His gaze rested on the calluses on the little boy's palm. Dammit, his hands shouldn't already show signs of hard labor. Youngsters shouldn't have to work that hard.

This was exactly why he'd made the decision, the decision the children hated him for right now. But they'd thank him later. He had to believe that.

He was doing this for their own good. Sam had to remind himself of that every single day. By sending them back east to live with his wife's parents, he was giving them the life they deserved, a life of privilege and wealth. But even though his reasons made sense, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that he was making a huge mistake.

 "It's just for a little while." He tried to sound convincing, but the promise rang false even to his own ears. "Right now, I need to work too hard--"

"We can help," Joseph volunteered. "I'm almost a man. You said so yourself when Ma died."

When Ma died. That said it all. Their lives had fallen apart when Catherine died six months before. The children had lost their mother, and he'd lost the only woman he'd ever loved.

"I did say that, didn't I?" he asked, ruffling the boy's hair. "And I meant it, too."

Catherine had always called Joseph her little man, and a melancholy smile twitched at Sam's lips at the recollection. He'd called him that, too, as Joseph had stood beside him at the cemetery when they laid Catherine to rest. Joseph had stood in the rain, his head held high, determined not to cry even though his eyes brimmed with tears and his chin quivered throughout the short service.

"I can work--" Joseph put in.

"Me too--"

"Me work--" Becky smiled up at him, the dimples in her cheeks and the clear blue gaze in her eyes bringing back the image of Catherine's angelic face.

God, couldn't they see how badly he wanted to keep them with him? They were all he had left, and sending them away was slowly killing him. But they had no way of knowing that. They only knew they were being sent to live with people they'd never met, in a place they'd never seen.