by Diana Palmer
“I’m all right. He’s divorcing me. I signed the papers. I’m better, from the wounds. They let me go.”
“He only saw you a couple of times before he lost his sight, didn’t he?” Mamie was thinking out loud.
“Yes,” she confessed. “Once at the party and once on the pier, then outside when I was sitting on a log, but he didn’t get a close look at me.” She laughed. It had a hollow sound. “He wouldn’t recognize me now. I don’t look the way I did anymore.”
“Then stay at the lake,” Mamie said firmly. “Listen to me, you can put a wash on your hair to make it look red. You can pretend you have a husband who works in Saudi Arabia. My godson. I hired you to house-sit while I’m working on research in Europe. Just say you’re two months earlier along in the pregnancy than you really are so Connor wouldn’t connect your baby with his even if he was suspicious.”
Mamie was determined and Emma was weakening. Texas was a long way away. The lake had been home for a long time. This was a nice town in which to raise a child. If Connor only came home for a few weeks, maybe she could go away for that time. If he saw her only from a distance, and she dyed her hair...
“I can hear you thinking about it. Just say yes. I’ll take care of everything.”
Emma drew in a breath. “You’re so kind to me, Mamie,” she began.
“It’s not hard. You’re kind to the world. You know where everything is. I have credit with the merchants in town. They can deliver food every week. You just call them and say it’s for me. I’ll call the local limo agency and give them my credit card number, so you can get a ride to town when you need one. You could have used the car, but I loaned it to a friend. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you’d be there... But, anyway, spare cash is in a canister in the kitchen for little things you need.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t go out at night. Don’t let Connor know you’re there.”
“I won’t. Thank you!”
“You’d do it for me,” was the soft reply. “If anything comes up that you can’t handle, call me.”
“I will.”
“Get some rest. You poor child. I’m so sorry!”
Emma fought tears. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“Thank you for taking care of the house! I’ll make sure you have a check every two weeks.”
“Thank you for that, too.”
“You know I can afford it. I meant to get back sooner, but I’ve had so much fun over here that I just didn’t want to get back to work. I’ve got a lot of research done. I’ll send my notes to you in an email. Get them in some sort of order when you have time. And keep me posted. I want to know how you do.”
“I’ll do that,” Emma promised. “I’ll let the lawyer drive me to the bus station. When he leaves, I’ll get a cab back here.”
“Wise woman. I’ll talk to you later, Emma.”
“Okay. You take care, too.”
“Always.”
* * *
Emma hung up. She moved to the door and called to Mr. Sims, to ask him to help her with the suitcase.
He came right up the steps and lifted it as if it weighed nothing. Emma relocked the door and put the key in her purse while the attorney put her bag in the car. She walked very slowly down the steps, using the cane the kind guard had given her. He was holding the door open for her.
“You need to have that leg looked at by a specialist,” he commented.
She managed a smile. “I’ll see if my cousin knows one,” she replied.
“Good idea.”
He drove her to the bus station. “Do you have enough money for the ticket?”
“Yes.” She opened her purse and pulled out a few twenty-dollar bills that she’d found in Mamie’s household money in the canister.
He smiled. “Okay.”
He carried the suitcase in for her, waited while she pretended to buy a ticket and was going to wait for the bus with her.
“No. That’s not necessary, but thank you for being so kind,” she told him with genuine feeling. “Thank you for getting me out of jail.” She choked up and had to blink the moisture out of her eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done,” she concluded.
He didn’t, either, but he wasn’t going to say so. He shook hands with her. “About those divorce papers...”
“It’s okay. I don’t blame him,” she said. “It wasn’t right, him marrying somebody like me. He needs one of those sophisticated, modern women who can hold their own at cocktail parties and fancy dinners.” She smiled sadly. “It was never me, if you know what I mean. Thanks again, Mr. Sims.”
He shook hands with her. “If you ever need help,” he said, and fished out a business card. “I won’t tell Connor,” he added with a sad smile.
She returned the smile. “I’ll remember.” She would have thanked him again, but she felt like a robot already for having said it so much.
He nodded, turned and walked away. Emma waited fifteen minutes, then she picked up the suitcase with some effort and started toward the front door.
An elderly man saw how hard it was for her to manage the cane and the suitcase.
“Here, little lady, let me help you with that.” He took the suitcase. “Where to?”
“Just out front,” she said. “I have to get a cab.”
He smiled. “No problem. I’m seeing my wife off to Buffalo to visit our son and daughter. She’s in the snack shop.”
“Thank you so much.”
“No need for that. Just pass it on when you can,” he said, depositing the suitcase where a taxi had just pulled up. “That’s what makes us human, helping each other out. Have a safe trip.”
“I hope your wife does, too. Thanks.”
He waved and went back inside. The taxi driver grinned, put her suitcase in the trunk and opened the door for her. “Where you wanna go?” he asked.
She gave him the address. When they got there, she pulled out a ten-dollar bill.
“No, no, it is only three dollars,” he began.
“It’s a tip, for being so nice.”
“Senorita, may the good Lord bless you.”
“May He do the same for you,” she said with a warm smile. “Thank you.”
“If you ever need me to take you someplace, you call me, okay?” He handed her a card.
“I certainly will.”
He deposited her suitcase on the front porch of Mamie’s cabin and left her with a smile.
* * *
So Emma moved back into Mamie’s house. She kept a low profile. She made sure the lights facing Connor’s house were never on. She never ventured outside. She stayed in the house and organized the notes Mamie sent her, kept the house clean, did whatever she could to keep her mind off Connor altogether. In the meantime, she dreamed of her baby. She was going to love it insanely. It would never want for love, even if it never had money.
She found a midwife, recommended to her by one of the men who delivered Mamie’s groceries to her. The midwife, a nice woman in her forties, came to see her often, to make sure things were progressing well. She knew that Emma’s mother had died in childbirth, so she was extra vigilant. When the baby came, she added, if she suspected any problem at all, they’d call an ambulance. Emma relaxed a little.
She wondered how Connor was, but they had no mutual friends and she wasn’t about to blow her cover by calling the house or even Mr. Sims. She imagined Mamie was right, that Connor would be in France by now, living it up.
* * *
In fact, Connor wasn’t living it up in France. He’d walked around the lake house like a ghost for days after he knew what he’d done to Emma. Marie and Barnes worried about him. He was so unlike himself. His suicide attempt had rattled them. Until then, they’d had no idea just how emotionally involved he was with Emma—or
what losing her had done to him.
Several days later, he took one last look around the house and called Alistair to tell him to put it on the market with all the furniture included. Alistair, sadly, agreed.
Then Connor packed up the household, had their odds and ends warehoused and flew them all to his home in Nice, where Edward welcomed them with joy and some curiosity.
“What is wrong?” he asked Marie when Connor was walking aimlessly up and down the beach out back. “I understood that Mr. Sinclair had married?”
“It’s a long story, Edward,” Marie replied sadly. “I’ll tell it to you one day. He’s a mess,” she added, nodding toward the solitary figure outside. “He’s put the lake house on the market and he says he’s never going back to Georgia. He had Mr. Sims deliver divorce papers to Emma for her to sign. I guess he’s filed them already. It’s such a shame,” she added sadly. “She loved him almost too much. I thought he cared for her, too. If he did, it’s too late now.”
“But why?” he asked.
“She drove a motorboat into him and blinded him,” she replied.
“It was she?” Edward exclaimed. “On purpose?”
“Of course not. She isn’t the sort. But he thought she did. He had her arrested and put in jail.” She grimaced. “She was pregnant. Another woman attacked her in jail and she lost the baby.” She drew in a long breath, registering Edward’s look of horror. “She actually told Mr. Sims that she deserved everything that happened to her, because the boss went blind.”
“An exceptional woman.”
“She cared so much for him. She sat up with him when he had migraines, did everything she could to keep him happy. I was sure that they’d be together forever, even when he was denying that he felt anything for her. It’s such a mess,” she said again.
“But she would forgive him, no?” he asked.
She nodded. “In time, yes, I think so. Right now she’s emotionally raw from losing the baby, especially the way it happened. She needs time to get over it.” She glanced out the window. “We have to watch him,” she added. “He tried to shoot himself when he found out what had happened to her. Mr. Sims actually wrestled a pistol out of his hands.”
Edward crossed himself. “Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed.
“He’s still not quite himself. We can’t leave him alone. Not until he’s had time to work through it.”
“What about Miss Emma? Where did she go?”
“Back to Texas, where she was from. Her own father disowned her when he knew she’d been arrested.”
“Some father,” Edward said coldly.
“Amen.”
“She has other family?”
“I think so,” Marie said. “A cousin. She’ll have a place to stay. Revenge is a very sad thing, Edward. A very sad thing indeed.”
* * *
Emma ventured out late one afternoon with her cane. She hadn’t seen any activity down Connor’s way and she was curious.
She walked to the log that had played such a part in her relationship with Connor and paused there, looking toward Pine Cottage. What she saw shocked her. There was a huge For Sale sign out front, with a Realtor’s name and telephone number.
She sat down on the log heavily. So he was giving up a family home to run from the memory of her. She knew that was why he’d put it on the market. He must truly hate her to do that. He wanted to make sure that he never saw her again. He needn’t have worried. Emma was never pushy. She wouldn’t have gone near him, even to beg forgiveness.
Perhaps he was just tired of the place. He loved France. Certainly, that would explain it. Except that he loved Pine Cottage. He’d told her once that he never had plans to let go of it. The place held so many memories, most especially of the brother he’d lost.
He hadn’t wanted to risk running into Emma, if she went back to work for Mamie. That had to be it.
It made her sad, that even with all that had happened, he bore a grudge. He was sorry for her, but that didn’t mean he’d forgiven her for blinding him. He was a man who never forgot an injury. So maybe it was just as well, that he’d gone.
She thought of the long years ahead, without even a glimpse of him, and hot tears stung her eyes. But she still had the baby that he didn’t know about.
One small hand smoothed over the hard little knot in her belly and she smiled sadly. At least she had a part of him that she’d never have to give up.
She turned and walked slowly back toward Mamie’s cabin.
Fifteen
Emma relaxed a little after she saw that Pine Cottage was up for sale. It would have made things difficult, if she’d had to be watching eternally for Connor, afraid of being seen.
She was so tired. She’d lost weight in the two months she’d been in jail. Her old clothes didn’t fit anymore. They hung on her. She looked at herself in the mirror after she showered and grimaced at the scars on her belly, laced with antiseptic, and the deep, long one that slashed across one smooth, lovely thigh. The woman had been a maniac. It was a miracle that the weapon hadn’t been longer. It did some damage to the muscle tissue of her leg, but hadn’t hit an artery.
Thank God she still had the baby tucked inside her. She would love him and hide him from the vindictive man who’d always said he didn’t want a child. He hadn’t used birth control the times he’d taken Emma to bed, but she knew he assumed she was taking the pill after he’d reminded her to get started on it. He’d made his position on children crystal clear. It was just odd that he’d never really asked her if she started using the pill.
She was so tired. The past few weeks had been an ordeal that she never hoped to repeat. She looked back on her brief marriage with bittersweet tears. It was hard to forget the tenderness he’d shown her, the passionate hunger he never seemed to satisfy. It was strange that he’d hated her so much, when he knew who she was. It was like the first night she’d seen him in evening clothes, at Mamie’s. He’d glowered at her, snapped at her, made her cry. When he’d found her dangling her toes into the lake from his pier, he’d been terrible. Why he hated a woman he didn’t even know didn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe, like that unstable woman in jail, he had her mixed up with someone who’d hurt him. It was the only explanation that made sense to her.
She put him out of her mind. He didn’t want her. She’d keep to herself and have her baby. She had a job, at least, and a roof over her head. She couldn’t afford an obstetrician, but she had the midwife. She recalled with bridled terror that her mother had died in childbirth, trying to give birth to another daughter, who also died. If it was a genetic thing, or a physical issue that was handed down, she could die in childbirth, too. But surely a midwife would know about such things. Of course she would. Emma knew she’d be okay. She had to be.
* * *
Connor was on a plane to Munich. The Realtor wasn’t enthusiastic about finding a buyer, even for such an exclusive property, Alistair had told him. Also, the price Connor wanted for it was unrealistic.
He didn’t care. He just wanted to get away from Georgia. He never wanted to go near the cottage again. It held such bittersweet memories of Emma. Emma, laughing in the muted sounds of dusk as she told him about the antics of birds on the lake. Emma, fussing over him at night when his head was splitting. Emma, moaning in his arms with such passion that he tingled all over just remembering it. Emma, sobbing and running from him when he accused her of blinding him...
He closed his eyes and shivered. Emma, he thought in anguish, sitting in a jail cell for two months and being attacked by another inmate so badly that she ended up in a hospital bed. He’d done that to her. He’d wanted to hurt her on a blind impulse of vengeance. He’d done it in the past, to other people. Now it hit home. He knew how the others must have felt. He was ashamed of himself, appalled at his own inability to control the anger.
Poor
Emma. He understood her feelings. She didn’t want him in her life. She was afraid of him, of the power he could wield, of what he could do to her. She’d run all the way to Texas to get away from him, to make sure she didn’t see him again. It hit him in the heart like a blow from a sledgehammer. And until he knew what he’d done to her, until he knew what a hell he’d made of her life, he didn’t realize...that he loved her.
It had crept up on him, like a soft fog on the lake in early morning in the fall. She’d brushed against his heart softly, so softly, her voice full of the love she couldn’t hide, the desire she couldn’t hide. She was the only woman he’d ever known who’d seemed to want him for what he was, not what he had.
He’d labeled her mercenary, a woman after him for a cushy life. But those terms applied to women like his lovers. They didn’t apply to Emma. He remembered the time he’d seen her on the beach, sitting on the log, and he’d ridiculed her cheap clothing. It shamed him, especially when he recalled her stiff pride, despite her lack of material wealth. That woman wouldn’t marry a man for what he had, or want a child for selfish reasons.
He was sorry about the child. He’d made her promise that she’d get on the pill, so that it wouldn’t be a constant worry. A child. He could picture Emma holding one, loving one because it was his, too. But that was in the past, before he hurt her, before he made her run. Before he cost her the baby she was carrying, that he hadn’t even known about. He closed his eyes. He would never hold her in the darkness again. He would never hear that silvery laugh that he loved so much, feel her gentle fingers in his hair, comforting him when the headaches came. He’d given all that up, and for what? For nothing. Alcohol and revenge had driven him past the point of no return. Emma, gentle Emma, in jail for two hellish months with no way out, nobody to protect her. Even then, she’d told Alistair that she deserved it for what she’d done to Connor. He almost choked on his drink, remembering that. Deserved it, for an accident that had been as much his own fault as hers!
There was an old biblical saying: vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord. He should have remembered it sooner, before he destroyed Emma’s life. Too late now. He finished his drink and held up the glass for the flight attendant to refill. If he could get drunk enough, maybe he could forget, just for a few minutes.
