by Diana Palmer
“You should have gone with them,” he said flatly.
She smiled sadly. “I tried to. He locked me in my room.” She looked up with soft, sad eyes. “Mamie reminds me of Dolores. She has a kind heart, too.”
There was an odd vibrating sound. She frowned, looking around.
He held up the cell phone he’d kept in his pocket. He glared at it, turned the vibrate function off and put it back in his pocket. “If I answer it, there’s a crisis I have to solve. If I don’t answer it, there will be two crises that cost me a small fortune because I didn’t answer it.”
“I don’t even own a cell phone,” she said absently. It was true—Mamie paid for hers.
How would she pay for one, he almost said out loud. But he didn’t want to hurt her. Life had done a good job of that, from what he’d heard.
He nodded toward the sky. “It will be dark soon,” he said. “You shouldn’t be out alone at night.”
She managed a smile. “That’s what Mamie says. I’m going in.”
She turned, a little reluctantly, because he wasn’t quite the ogre she thought he was.
All the way down the path, she felt his eyes on her. But he didn’t say another word.
Two
Emma wondered about Connor Sinclair. She was curious why he was so angry, because she saw it in him, felt it in him. She didn’t want to think about him so much. He disturbed her, fascinated her, in ways she didn’t understand. Probably, it was because he was so hostile toward her. It had to be that.
Tired of the lake house, she walked to the marina and got into Mamie’s speedboat. Nobody saw her leave, but then, she had the key and she could come and go whenever she wanted to.
It was a beautiful early October morning. All around the lake, mostly trimmed with pine trees, a few hardwoods were beginning to show their lovely fall colors. The leaves turned more slowly here, in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Up in North Carolina, people said, the leaf season was in full swing, attracting tourists from all over the piedmont. Around the North Georgia lake where Mamie’s house was situated, the maples were going to be glorious in their reds and golds. This was Emma’s favorite season. She loved the bright beginnings of the season, the many different shades that combined to turn the whole world bright and new in its last feverish gasp before winter.
She turned the boat toward the wide-open part of the lake and revved it up. She laughed as the wind blew her hair back, bit into her face, made her feel alive and young, as if the whole world was hers.
The sun was low on the horizon, making a bright trail in the water as she whirled the boat and sent it spinning toward the distant shoreline. It was so early that nobody was on the lake. She had it all to herself. She could step on the gas and never have to worry—
There was a horrible scraping sound, a horrible jolt that shook the boat and Emma.
“Damn it!”
The angry curse came out of nowhere, like the Jet Ski that she hadn’t seen in the brilliance of the morning sun that blinded her for just a few seconds.
She let off the gas, shaking from the collision and fear of what she’d done. She stood up in the boat, her eyes searching the water around her. There was a Jet Ski on the side of the boat toward the small cove.
“Oh, no, oh, no!” she cried. “I’m sorry!”
There was no answer. The Jet Ski revved and headed toward the distant dock. She knew at once whom she’d hit, and her blood froze. But he seemed to be all right. He got to the dock, and climbed off the Jet Ski. He sat there, seemingly disoriented, and called to someone.
As Emma watched, three people spilled out of the huge, luxurious lake house and ran toward him.
Unseen by the people in the cove, Emma eased the boat into motion and moved it back toward the marina. Her heart was racing like mad. She’d hit Connor Sinclair. He’d be out for her blood. He’d warned her. He’d threatened her. When he found out who’d hit him, she’d have no safe place to hide in the whole world.
She had no place to run. She couldn’t go home. Her father would want to know why she’d come, why he wasn’t getting the money she was supposed to send him every month. He’d be furious. Mamie was overseas and she’d called just once to tell Emma that she’d be in places where she wouldn’t have cell phone service for a few days.
Emma had all of a hundred dollars in her bank account and less than two hundred in savings. Not nearly enough to run and hide from a multimillionaire who’d want her arrested.
She drove the boat back to the marina, aware that it had a dent on one side where it had hit the Jet Ski. It was a sturdy boat. It didn’t seem any the worse for the collision. She drove it into the slip and got out, pausing to ask the custodian if the boat could be dry-docked, because Mamie was going to be away for the rest of the year and it was turning cold.
The older man smiled and said of course they could, and did she want him to beat out that dent in the hull? She smiled back, very calmly, and said that would be very kind; she’d hit a stump in the water too close to a cove.
That happened more often than folks realized, he said, chuckling. When the dam was built, and the land flooded, which created Lake Lanier, many trees had been covered with the water that became the lake. He’d do the work and send Mamie the bill, he promised.
Emma walked back to the lake house, prepared to find the lake police on the front porch waiting for her.
But they weren’t. She spent a sleepless night worrying about it, waiting for it. Connor Sinclair was her worst enemy. He’d never stop until he made her pay for what she’d done.
She hated her own cowardice. She was hiding from him, from retribution, from punishment. She hoped he wasn’t badly hurt, but what if he was?
* * *
On the second day after the incident, she got up enough nerve to call his lake house. It wasn’t listed under his name, just under its own designation: Pine Cottage. Only local people knew it was Connor Sinclair’s home.
Emma called the number and let it ring. Her heart was running wild as it rang once, twice, three times, four...
She was about to hang up when a female voice answered.
“Pine Cottage,” she said, using the name local people gave the sprawling vacation home.
“Is Mr. Sinclair available?” she asked in her most businesslike tone.
“Connor?” the woman replied. “Oh, no, he’s at the hospital. He fell off the Jet Ski and hit his head. Poor thing, he has no idea how it happened...is this Jewell?”
“No, this is Adrian Merrell’s personal assistant. Mr. Merrell was hoping to speak to Mr. Sinclair about an upcoming conference they’re both attending,” she lied.
“Merrell? I’ve heard that name. No matter, Connor won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, I’m afraid.”
“I’m very sorry to hear about his accident. I’ll tell Mr. Merrell. Thank you. Goodbye.”
She hung up. Connor was alive. He’d hit his head. Why wouldn’t he be going anywhere soon? Emma groaned as she wondered just how much damage she’d done. There hadn’t been anybody on the lake, she was certain of it!
But the sun had been in her eyes. She’d been daydreaming, not paying attention. How could she not have realized where she was, whose cove she was near? She could have cried at her lack of good sense, at her own recklessness. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. But would that matter in the end?
* * *
She agonized about it for the rest of the week. On her walks, she got near enough to the big house to tell that people were still coming and going. There didn’t seem to be any frenetic activity. She didn’t see lake police or ambulances there. Perhaps he knew it had been Emma who hit him, though, and he was just biding his time, waiting to let her worry about what he was going to do about the accident.
She finally realized that it was doing no go
od to wear ruts in Mamie’s carpet. She was hiding, like a coward. Whatever the consequences, she had to apologize and beg him not to press charges. She’d offer to work for him, free, to do anything within reason to help make up for injuring him. Surely he’d realize that she hadn’t done it maliciously. Then she recalled his warnings, his anger at her for earlier near-misses. He wasn’t going to be merciful. He’d want blood.
But hiding wasn’t helping her, either. She was a nervous wreck. She might as well face the music. She didn’t want Mamie to suffer for something that was her own fault. However painful, she had to face the music.
* * *
She walked slowly toward Pine Cottage. It was late afternoon on Saturday. There were boats scattered on the lake. The sailboats were elegant and beautiful. Emma loved to look at them. She wondered if Mr. Sinclair ever sailed. Mamie had said that he owned a sailboat. If only he’d been in it the previous week, and not on that stupid Jet Ski—
“Oh!” she exclaimed as she almost ran right into a huge man standing on the lakeshore. “I’m so sorry.”
Her voice caught in her throat as she met Connor Sinclair’s pale, glittering silver eyes. She bit her lower lip. She’d forgotten how dangerous he was. That cold gaze brought it all back. He’d probably call the police as soon as she told him what she’d done.
“My fault,” he returned. “I can’t see you.”
“You can’t...see...me?” she gasped. The horror of what she’d done made every muscle in her slender body clench. She’d blinded him. She’d blinded him!
He shrugged. “Concussion,” he said, turning toward the lake as if he could see it. “I fell off a Jet Ski and hit my head. Or so they say. I don’t remember any of it. They said it was a miracle that I made it back to the dock at all.”
“I’m...so sorry,” she choked. “Your sight...will it come back?”
“They don’t know. Five thousand dollars’ worth of tests to tell me that they’re not sure if I’ll see again. No more Jet Skis, for sure. Either way.”
She paused beside him. “I thought Jet Skis were dangerous,” she began.
“They are. I like dangerous things,” he said curtly. “Skydiving, race cars, testing planes, Jet Skis,” he added with a faint smile. “I had my housekeeper lead me down here. I’ll have to find my own way back. As I said,” he added whimsically, “I like dangerous things.”
“Why?”
Both thick eyebrows went up. He turned toward her voice. “What the hell do you mean, why?”
“Life is precious,” she said.
“Life is tedious, monotonous, maddening and joyless,” he shot back. “It’s hard, and then you die.”
“You stole that line from a retro television show,” she accused involuntarily, with a muffled laugh, and then flushed.
But he chuckled, surprised. “Yes, I did. Dempsey and Makepeace; you can find reruns of it on YouTube.”
Then he frowned. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
She had to think fast. Confession was good for the soul, she thought, but not yet. “I’m staying with a girlfriend for a couple of weeks. I’m sort of in between jobs. I got lost. I thought her cabin was this way, but nothing looks familiar here.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Brain surgery,” she said pertly. “I took this mail-order course...”
He burst out laughing.
She was surprised, because he was a man who hardly knew how to laugh.
“Pull the other one,” he invited.
She grinned. “Okay. In my spare time, I make custom harnesses for frogs. So you can walk them.”
He let out a breath, and grinned. “What do you do?” he persisted.
She shrugged. “I’m a copy typist for a law firm. Or I was.”
“Why?”
“I was made redundant. Laid off sounds better, though.” She glanced at him. “It’s getting dark. Should you be out here by yourself when you can’t see? The lake is very deep.”
“Should you be out by yourself when you’re lost?” he shot back.
“No, I shouldn’t,” she said. “But you shouldn’t, either.”
“Want to lead me to my door?” he invited.
“I might as well. At least you’re not lost,” she added.
He held out his hand.
Odd, how it felt to hold his hand, to feel the warm strength of that big, beautiful hand against her skin. She had to fight to keep her confusion from showing.
“Where do you live?” she asked, because she wasn’t supposed to know.
“Pine Cottage. There’s a sign.”
She let out a breath. “Oh, it’s there. I see it.”
He hesitated. She tugged, just gently.
“It’s this way,” she said softly, letting him catch up without making an issue of it. She walked very slowly, very carefully, so that he was on the path and didn’t walk into obstacles like rocks that could throw him off balance. “Three steps,” she said. “This is the first one.”
He went up them with no seeming difficulty and stopped. “You’re quite good at this.”
“I practice on little old ladies who can’t find their glasses,” she returned, tongue in cheek.
He smiled. It wasn’t a cold, formal or social smile, either. And he hadn’t let go of her hand.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“The Energizer Bunny?” she suggested.
“Try again.”
“I’m Emma,” she said, having fought the impulse not to lie to him. But there had to be a zillion women named Emma. He wouldn’t connect her. He probably didn’t even know her name. He’d have no reason to want to know it. He’d connected her with the near-miss on the Jet Ski before Mamie’s party, when she’d been driving the boat, but that was just physical recognition. Mamie had said that he didn’t know Emma except as her assistant. He hadn’t asked for her name.
“Emma what?” he asked.
“Copeland,” she replied.
His lips pursed. “Think you could find your way back here?”
She hesitated. “I found it because I was lost.”
“I’m having Barnes drive you home,” he said surprisingly. “He can pick you up where he drops you off, yes?”
Her heart was racing. “Why would I want to be picked up?”
“Breakfast,” he said simply.
“Breakfast?”
“Eggs, bacon, pancakes...strong black coffee,” he added.
“My friend has Pop-Tarts.” She groaned.
He grinned. “Eggs, bacon, pancakes—”
“Don’t! You’re torturing me! What time?”
“Eight a.m.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t sleep late?”
“I go to bed at nine,” she said. “Eight a.m. is late to me.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll see you soon, Emma.”
“Who are you?” she asked, because she couldn’t give herself away. Not yet.
“Connor.”
“Connor. It’s nice.”
“I’m not,” he cautioned, his silver eyes flashing at her.
“Pop-Tarts might not be so bad...” she began.
He grinned. “I’ll try to be nice. Just for breakfast.”
“Okay.”
“Barnes!” he called.
A short, older man came in, smiling. “Yes, sir?”
“Take Emma back to her roommate,” he said, indicating Emma. “And make sure you remember where you drop her, so you can pick her up in the morning and bring her back for breakfast.”
“Yes, sir. Are you ready to go, Miss Emma?” he asked in his slow, sweet Georgia drawl.
“I am.”
“Good night, Emma,” Connor sai
d with a smile.
“Good night.”
* * *
She had Barnes drop her off at the Frenchwoman’s house. She waved him off and then asked Jeanne Marie if it was all right that she pretended to live there. She couldn’t explain, she added, but she promised it was nothing illegal or immoral.
Jeanne laughed and said of course it was all right. When Emma told her about the next morning’s appointment, Jeanne said that was fine, as well. She was curious. Emma just blushed, and Jeanne asked no more questions.
* * *
All night, Emma agonized about going to breakfast at Connor’s. It seemed like a sound idea, to get to know him, just a little, and then confess what she’d done. If he knew her, he might not jump to conclusions that she’d hit him on purpose.
But it was risky, just the same. She couldn’t go back to her father. She couldn’t go to her friends in Jacobsville, either, without putting them in the line of fire. She knew they wouldn’t mind, but they’d already done enough for her.
At eight the next morning, she got into the expensive sedan with Barnes at the wheel and let him take her to Pine Cottage.
“Eggs, bacon, pancakes,” she enthused as she walked into the dining room and took a long sniff. “What a delicious smell!”
Connor was sitting there at the head of the table, his broad face smiling, his head cocked slightly to one side. He wore a green polo shirt with tan slacks and deck shoes. He looked expensive and so sexy that he made Emma’s toes curl.
But those thoughts were destructive. He was just a man she’d met on the lake. That was all he could ever be.
“It tastes as good as it smells,” he assured her. “Edward has cooked for me for over a decade, but he didn’t want to live on a lake in Georgia. So I left him at my house on the Riviera years ago and hired Marie,” he indicated an older woman with silver hair and a bright smile, “who has a way with herbs and spices.”
Emma started to pull out a chair for herself when Barnes came out of nowhere to do it for her. “Miss,” he said politely, bowing.
“Thanks,” she replied shyly.
“Barnes practically came with the property.” Connor chuckled. “His mother kept house for my father, on his rare visits here.” His face tautened, as if the memory wasn’t a pleasant one.
