- -
- 100%
- +
“It’s nearly Christmas, Emma. Do you expect me to not shop?” her aunt replied.
“That’s exactly what I expect. We’re both exhausted. I’m injured. We need to rest.” She tugged on the ends of her T-shirt. Or what had been her T-shirt about fifteen years ago. Thankfully Bea had managed to find jeans that Emma had brought with her from Boston.
“You need to rest, dear.” Bea patted her hand. “I’ll take the bus to the mall.”
“You can’t—”
“Everything okay in here?” Lucas walked into the room, his jaw shadowed with the beginning of a beard. He still wore his police uniform, the legs of his pants just a little wrinkled. Had he gone home? Or had he stayed at the hospital all night?
“Lucas Harwood? Is that you?” Bea used her walker to cross the room. “It’s been forever.”
Emma’s heart sank at the words, but she didn’t correct her aunt. Pointing out her memory lapses only added to Bea’s frustration and fear.
“It seems that way,” Lucas said with a kind smile. “I heard you two had been discharged. I thought I could give you a ride.”
“You can bring Emma home. I’m taking the bus to the mall,” Bea replied. “I have Christmas shopping to do.”
“That sounds like fun.” Lucas held the door open as Bea shuffled through, and if Emma had been close enough, she would have been tempted to kick his shin. Just to let him know that Bea going to the mall on a bus was not a good idea.
“Doesn’t it? There are a few children at church whose families are going through tough times. I plan to buy them each a gift,” Bea continued.
“They’ll appreciate that. I’ll just call my grandmother and ask her to stay with Emma while you’re gone.”
“I don’t need—” Emma began, but Lucas shook his head.
“Why would you do something like that?” Bea huffed, her blue eyes flashing with indignation. “I can certainly take care of my own niece.”
“You said you wanted to go shopping,” Lucas reminded her.
Bea frowned, her gaze jumping to Emma. “Well, I certainly don’t want to go if you need me, Emma.”
“I do.” Emma followed Lucas’s lead. That was so much easier than arguing with Bea.
“In that case, we’ll go home. I’ll make some of my chicken noodle soup and get a package of frozen peas for that cheek.”
“Thanks, Bea.”
“You don’t have to thank me, dear. I love taking care of you.” Bea smiled beatifically as the elevator doors slid open.
Emma stepped in behind her, pressing close to the wall as Lucas followed. He smelled like soap and sunshine, and he looked exactly as she thought a hero should.
Which was a problem, because she didn’t need or want a hero in her life.
He leaned toward her.
“You can thank me later,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. Warmth shot through her, and her heart jumped. She wanted to lean her head against his shoulder the way she had when they were teenagers, but they weren’t teenagers anymore. They were nothing more than strangers who’d once been friends.
“I’d rather do it now and get it over with,” she responded, bracing herself as she looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Lucas.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re welcome. Although I have to admit I was hoping you’d thank me with a meal. I hear you’re quite a chef.”
“Who’d you hear that from?” she asked as he led them off the elevator and into the hospital lobby. Watery sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, the parking lot beyond packed with cars and people. Nothing to be afraid of, but she felt a sharp zing of anxiety.
“Your ex. Camden had a lot to say about the wonderful meals you made for his family every Sunday.” His hand settled on her lower back, his palm warm. Emma’s breath caught, her nerves suddenly alive with longing.
She met his eyes, saw her surprise reflected in his gaze.
He’d been married and widowed. She was pretty sure of that.
Was he dating now?
It was a question she wouldn’t ask, because the answer shouldn’t matter.
“Camden?” Bea said as she shuffled out the automatic door, her walker tapping on the concrete sidewalk. “Is that the jerk who dropped you like a hot potato?”
“He didn’t drop me, Bea. I broke things off with him. Remember?” she responded, trying not to notice the way Lucas was watching her.
“Here’s our ride.” He gestured to a black four-door sedan parked in the loading zone. Not what she’d have expected from him. When they were kids, he’d loved old cars and trucks. The older, the better, according to Lucas. He’d spend hours taking apart old motors and putting them back together.
She wanted to ask him how he’d ended up with such a modern and boring vehicle, but that was another question she didn’t need to know the answer to.
He opened the front and back passenger doors, gesturing for Emma to climb in as he helped Bea get settled. “Go ahead and get in, Emma. The less time you spend out in the open, the happier I’ll be.”
His words got her moving, and she slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed.
Lucas wanted to hurry Emma’s great-aunt into the car, but there was no hurrying a woman in her eighties. Especially not one who was recovering from a broken hip. She held on to his arm as he helped lower her into the car he’d borrowed from his grandmother. His personal vehicle was an old Ford truck, and he hadn’t thought either woman in good enough condition to climb into it.
He’d had no intention of letting Emma and Bea find their way home on their own. The evidence team was working to collect DNA from the ski mask he’d found, and they were looking through security camera footage from businesses near the bus stop where he and Henry had lost the scent trail. So far there was little to go on. No leads. No witnesses. Nothing but the nagging feeling that money wasn’t the only thing the perpetrator had been looking for.
He glanced at Emma as he pulled away from the hospital.
Aside from the bruise on her cheek and a smaller one on her jaw, she was colorless, her dark hair scraped back from her face and held in place by a pink rubber band.
She looked scared.
She should be.
She’d been accosted and beaten. Only the fact that he’d shown up had kept worse from happening. The need to protect her mixed with the desperate fear that he wouldn’t be able to save her any more than he’d been able to save Sarah.
His fist tightened on the steering wheel, and he glanced in the rearview mirror. Traffic was light, and the afternoon sun reflected off the cars and trucks that were behind him. No sign that they were being followed and no reason to believe anyone would bother. Unless there was something Emma wasn’t telling him.
“You didn’t ask me what else Camden had to say,” he mentioned casually, wondering if there was more to the ex-boyfriend than she wanted him to know.
“Because I don’t really care what he had to say. He’s not part of my life anymore,” she responded.
Lucas had been a police officer for seven years, and he knew the truth when he heard it. She was telling the truth. At least, her version of the truth. It was possible Camden’s version of the truth was different. “He might like to be.”
“I told you last night, Camden had nothing to do with what happened. He enjoys his job, his reputation and his money too much to risk it. Besides, he wasn’t sorry to see me go. He’s already dating someone else. As a matter of fact, he’ll probably get engaged to her on Christmas Eve and give her the ring he planned to give me.”
The guy sounded like a real winner. Lucas kept the thought to himself. “You’ve been back in Sagebrush for how long?”
“Two months.”
“He had a pretty quick recovery time if he’s already planning to marry someone else.”
“Exactly my point,” she said. “I wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme of his life. Certainly not important enough for him to follow me or send someone else after me.” She sounded unaffected, but her hands were fisted in her lap, her knuckles white.
He lifted one, running his thumb over the deep grooves her nails had gouged into her palm.
“He’s not worth it,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”
“Worth what?” she murmured, pulling her hand away and rubbing it against her thigh.
“Any time or energy you might spend wishing that things had worked out.”
“I don’t wish that. I just...”
“What?”
“Thought I was going to have the dream. The house and the white picket fence. The career. The kids. The husband who adored me.”
“You still might have all those things.”
“I’m nearly thirty.”
“Ancient,” he joked, and she rewarded him with a smile.
“You’re six months older than me,” she pointed out.
“Some people might argue that that makes me six months wiser.” He turned onto Oak Street, the sound of her soft laughter ringing in his ears. It pleased him more than it probably should have, but he couldn’t make himself care. It felt good to be around Emma again. In some strange way, it felt like coming home.
He frowned, pulling into Bea’s driveway and parking the car. Her little house sat neat and tidy in the center of a perfectly manicured lawn. Two large mature trees stood at the edge of the yard. Years ago a tire swing had hung from one of the branches.
He got out of the car, scanning the yard and the street. No sign of danger, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t trouble lurking nearby.
“Ready?” he asked as he opened Bea’s door.
“I’ve been ready, son.” She let him help her out of the car, smiling as Emma handed her the walker that he’d stored in the trunk. “You come on in and have some coffee. If you play your cards right, Emma might even make you a snack.”
“Sounds good.” He followed the two women up the porch stairs, nearly walking into Emma’s back when she stopped short.
“The door’s open,” she whispered, stepping back so quickly that she bumped into Lucas. His arm wrapped around her automatically, his fingers resting against velvety skin as he looked over her head, saw that she was right.
The door was open. Just a crack. Barely enough to let light through.
“Go back to the car,” he ordered, nudging Emma out of the way.
“What do you thi—?” she started, but he cut her off.
“Take Bea and go. Lock yourself in the car. Don’t get out until I tell you different.”
She looked as if she was going to argue, but she glanced at her aunt, her expression tightening for just a moment.
Finally she nodded. “Okay.”
She helped Bea maneuver back down the porch stairs.
He waited until they were in the car, then pulled his service revolver from its holster and opened the door.
SIX
The door swung open easily. Just as Emma had known it would. She watched as Lucas disappeared into the house.
“What’s going on, Emma?” Bea asked. “Why are we back in the car?”
“The front door was open. Lucas wanted to...” What? Make sure a killer wasn’t lurking inside? She couldn’t say that to Bea. “Do you think you forgot to close the door last night?”
That was the easiest explanation, the most palatable one.
“Of course not!” Bea exclaimed. “I’d have been afraid that Fluffy would get out. You know how she is. Always wanting to wander the neighborhood.”
Actually, Bea’s dog was more likely to curl up on the couch and sleep, but Emma didn’t point that out. She was too busy staring at the open front door.
“Maybe it just didn’t close tightly,” Emma said. “It was damp and cold yesterday. That door is always tricky in the winter.”
True. All of it. But Emma still couldn’t shake her fear.
“Not so tricky that I can’t manage it. Besides, I locked the door when I left. I remember that clear as day,” Bea insisted. That didn’t mean she actually had locked the door or even shut it. Bea’s memory was about as reliable as the old car she used to drive.
Lucas appeared in the open doorway, a squirming white dog in his arms.
“There he is! Stay here, Bea.” Emma jumped out of the car, her head throbbing with the sudden movement.
“Slow down, Em,” Lucas jogged toward her, grabbing her arm when she would have sprinted up the porch steps. “You just got out of the hospital.”
“Was someone in there? Were we robbed?” She tried to pull away, but his fingers were like silken vises.
“How about you let me get rid of this dog before we discuss the open door, okay?” He walked her back to the car, passed Fluffy to Bea.
“Can you hold her for a few minutes, Bea? I want to bring Emma in the house, make sure nothing has been moved or touched.”
“Of course,” Bea murmured. “You’re such a kind and responsible young man, Lucas.” She glanced at Emma and smiled. “Isn’t he kind and responsible?”
“Sure,” she muttered, and Lucas laughed.
“Thanks, Em. I’m glad you think so.” He closed the car door and led her back to the house. “I checked all the rooms. It doesn’t look like anyone has been inside the house, but I thought I’d get your take on it.”
“Bea said that she thought she closed and locked the door when she left the house last night.” Emma hesitated in the threshold. The place looked the same—dusty wood floor that Emma really needed to dry mop, peach-colored walls that she was determined to paint as soon as she got Bea’s permission, big bulky furniture.
“It’s okay,” Lucas murmured near her ear. “I’ve checked every room. You’re not in any danger.”
She forced herself to walk inside. The living room was untouched, the book Bea had been reading sitting on the coffee table. The kitchen was spotless, the new appliances Emma had had installed gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the back window. The dining room table had been set for two, the old sideboard Emma had found in the diner matching Bea’s eclectic style. The bedrooms were empty and silent, untouched as far as Emma could tell.
She opened the door that led to the attic conversion that Bea and her husband had made years before Emma was born. Narrow steps led to a spacious room that had once been the master bedroom. Bea couldn’t use it anymore. Emma had moved her into one of the main-level bedrooms so that she wouldn’t have to navigate up and down the stairs. Bea thought she’d move back into the room eventually. Emma hadn’t had the heart to tell her it wasn’t going to happen.
“You okay?” Lucas asked as he followed her up the stairs.
“Fine.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Because I always am.” She glanced around the room, swallowing down a lump of sadness. She’d spent a lot of time in this room when she was a girl, lying on Bea’s queen-size bed and staring out the small dormer windows. Bea had always been there, bustling around the room, ironing shirts or skirts, talking about everything and nothing. More of a mother than Emma’s mother had ever been.
She walked to the rolltop desk she’d found in the diner’s office, touched the smooth old wood. When she’d brought it to the house, she’d imagined it lined with old photographs, imagined Bea sitting at the desk, writing letters to all her choir friends. It wouldn’t fit in Bea’s room downstairs, though, and there was no room for it in the rest of the house. Emma was going to move it back to the diner, put it back in the office where she’d found it. Forget the idea of Bea enjoying it.
“Em?” Lucas turned her so that they were face-to-face, his hands warm on her shoulders.
“Everything looks just the way we left it,” she said, her gaze on the old desk, the floor, the dormer windows. She didn’t want to look into Lucas’s eyes. She was afraid he’d see all the sadness and fear she was trying to hide, but she couldn’t not look. She met his gaze, felt the hot hard knot of grief pulsing behind her eyes.
He touched her uninjured cheek, his fingers lingering as he studied her face.
“It’s going to be okay,’ he said, his breath ruffling her hair.
“How do you know?” she said, her hands moving of their own accord, sliding around his waist and settling on the small of his back. She felt taut muscle and warm skin and the strange feeling that she was finally where she should have been all along.
She would have stepped back, but he wrapped her in a gentle hug.
“Faith. I believe God is in control and that He’s going to work everything out the way it should be,” he said simply.
“Faith is easy, Lucas. It’s trust that’s hard.”
Lucas eased back and looked into Emma’s face. She was the same Emma. Striking rather than beautiful, her cheekbones high, her eyes large and tip-tilted at the corners, her dark hair contrasting sharply with her fair skin. The same but different, too. No more colorful streaks in her dark hair. No more nose ring or multiple ear piercings. She looked grown-up, mature. Breathtaking. “I guess that depends on who you’re putting your trust in,” he said.
She nodded, stepping away, running her hand over a large rolltop desk. “I trust God. It’s people that I struggle with.”
“That’s not surprising. Your parents weren’t overly concerned about you or your well-being. I don’t think your boyfriend was any better.” He was blunt because that was the way it had always been between the two of them.
She stiffened.
“How about we change the subject?” she asked coolly.
“Sure. Let’s talk about the diner while we go get Bea,” he responded, and she finally met his gaze, her eyes the deep blue-purple of the sky at sunset. He’d forgotten what a dark blue they were. Forgotten how easily a guy could get lost in them if he let himself.
“What do you want to know?”
“You’re opening next week, right?” He pressed a hand to her lower back, urging to the stairs.
“Yes. Two days before Christmas. Bea chose the date. It would have been her sixtieth wedding anniversary.”
“Is there anyone who would want to keep that from happening?”
“No.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “The community has been really supportive. The local paper even did a feature article on the diner reopening.”
“When was that?”
“Last weekend. It ran in the Saturday edition of the paper,” she said as she walked down the stairs and into the hallway.
Lucas filed the information away, his mind racing with possibilities. Anyone who’d read the article would have known when the diner was set to reopen. Any predator looking for an easy victim might have kept watch, waiting for an opportunity to attack Emma when she was alone.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a bug under a microscope,” she muttered, swiping at a stray lock of hair that fell across her cheek as she led the way into the living room.
“You’re an attractive woman. It’s possible someone saw your picture in the paper—”
“He asked for money, Lucas. Clear as could be. So I’m pretty sure he didn’t see my photograph, fall into some mad frenzy of longing and decide to kidnap me.”
The front door swung open and Bea walked in, her little white dog prancing at her feet. “Emma! What’s going on, dear? Why are you two in here while I’m waiting out in the car?”
“We were just coming to get you, Bea.” Emma nearly ran to her aunt’s side.
Lucas crossed the room more slowly.
In the years since Sarah’s death, he hadn’t dated much. A dinner here or there, a movie or two. Nothing that mattered. Nothing he cared much about. He’d loved Sarah. He hadn’t thought he’d ever find that kind of love again.
He’d forgotten about Emma, though. Forgotten how good it felt to be in a room with her, to talk to her, to look into her eyes. Forgotten how right it felt to spend time with her.
Now that he’d remembered, he wasn’t sure he wanted to walk away again, wasn’t sure he wanted to say goodbye and forget all the moments they’d shared.
He frowned.
There’d be time to think about that after he found the guy who’d attacked Emma. And he would find him. It was just a matter of time. Unfortunately, Lucas had no idea how much of that he’d have before the guy struck again.
SEVEN
Fourteen hours stuck in Bea’s house when there was work to be done at the diner was thirteen hours too long!
Emma pulled eggs from the fridge and did her best to ignore her aunt’s questioning gaze.
She knew what was coming.
The same question she’d been asked a dozen times in the past few hours.
Patience, she thought. She needed God to give her a bucket-load of it.
“Aren’t you going to get ready for church?” Bea asked.
“It’s not Sunday, Bea,” Emma responded with the same answer she’d given a dozen other times.
“Are you sure?” Bea walked over to the wall calendar and squinted at the numbers.
“Yes.”
“It’s not Sunday?”
“It’s Saturday. We’ll go to church tomorrow.”
“Are you making something for the potluck?”
“The potluck isn’t for another week, Bea. I’m making scones.” Because cooking is the only way to maintain my sanity.
“Lovely! You should invite that nice young man over and give him one.”
“What young man?” Emma asked, making sure that there wasn’t a bit of impatience in her voice. It wasn’t Bea’s fault she was going stir-crazy. Working as a sous-chef meant long and active days. It meant dealing with stress and chaos in a calm and efficient way. It did not mean sitting in a quiet old house for hours on end, nursing aching muscles and ugly bruises.
“The one you used to hang out with all the time. What was his name?” Bea frowned. “I should know it. He was here almost every day.”
“Lucas?” Just saying his name made a hundred butterflies dance in Emma’s stomach.
“That’s right. Lucas. Call him up and tell him to come for scones.”
“I don’t think so, Bea.”
“Why not?”
“He’s busy.”
“How do you know that he’s busy if you haven’t called him?”
“I—”
The doorbell rang, interrupting the argument. Thank goodness.
“I’ll get it.” She ran to the front door, pressing her eye to the peephole. The police hadn’t found the guy who’d attacked her. She didn’t expect to see him on the other side of the door, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
A man stood at the far corner of the porch, his face hidden by a Stetson, what looked like a very big dog at his feet.
“Who is it?” she called, but she knew. She recognized the breadth of the shoulders, the easy way he held himself. She even recognized the fuzzy outline of the dog at his side. Lucas.
“It’s me.” He stepped in front of the door, and her heart leaped. He looked good. Better than good. He looked like everything any woman could ever want in a man.
She fumbled with the lock, her fingers tripping all over themselves. It seemed to take forever, but she finally managed to open the door.
“Lucas! What are you doing here?”
“I’m working your case, remember?” He smiled, taking off his Stetson. “Do you have a couple of minutes?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
“Do you mind if Henry comes, too?”
“As long as he doesn’t eat my aunt’s dog, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Henry only takes chunks out of bad guys who refuse to cooperate.” He patted the big dog’s head and stepped into the house.
She closed the door, catching a whiff of spicy cologne and chilly winter air.
Bea shuffled out of the kitchen, her walker tapping on the floor. “Lucas Harwood!” she exclaimed. “Is that you? And you brought a dog! Fluffy! Come quick. You have a visitor.”
Bea’s little white puffball of a dog had probably seen her “visitor,” because she refused to make an appearance.
“How are you, Mrs. Daphne?” Lucas grinned at Bea, his dark hair ruffled. He had grown into his height, his shoulders filling out and his face losing the almost-too-pretty look of his youth. Now he had an edge of hardness and strength that Emma had to admit was appealing.
“It’s been too many years, young man,” Bea chastised, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d seen each other.
“It has been too long,” Lucas agreed before Emma could remind her aunt that they’d seen him the previous day.