Emily And The Stranger

by Beverly Barton

  “Oh, Uncle Fowler, you’re such a worrywart.”

  Emily smiled and Fowler thought his heart would break. She was the most beautiful creature on earth. He’d thought so the first time he’d seen her, when Stuart had brought her home and introduced her as his girlfriend. He’d been so pleased when his nephew had married Emily and they had generously made him a part of their lives. Stuart’s death and Emily’s miscarriage had destroyed their happy family. But he had moved heaven and earth to help Emily. He had forced her to live when she wanted to die. He had held her hand and wiped her tears through countless surgeries that had been unable to erase the hideous scars from her back. He wanted her to be happy again, to live again, but...

  “Have you told Charles that you’re moving?” Fowler asked.

  Emily groaned. “No, of course I haven’t told Charles. Why should I? It’s not as if—”

  “He’s very fond of you, you know. And I certainly approve of him as a...a suitor for you.”

  Charles Tolbert was an up-and-coming young accountant in Fowler’s firm, a man Fowler had taken under his wing. He had chosen Charles as his protégé, after Stuart’s death, and it was his heartfelt wish that someday Emily would agree to marry Charles. They had been dating on and off for the past year. Charles was quite smitten, but Emily’s feelings for Charles remained rather lukewarm.

  “You can tell him today,” Emily said. “There’s no reason Charles and I can’t continue being friends. After all, I’m just moving across the bay.”

  “I wish you had discussed this with me before you decided to move out on your own. It isn’t too late for you to change your mind. We could—”

  “Everything is settled,” Emily said. “I’ve signed the papers. I am now co-owner of the Paint Box. I start work next Monday, so I’m going to move into the cottage this weekend.”

  “So soon?”

  Emily laughed. Fowler loved her warm, genuine laughter. He would miss everything about Emily, but most of all, he would miss her laughter.

  “I shall miss you terribly, my dear.” He sighed. Tears glazed his eyes. “But of course, you know what’s best for you. I want only your happiness, and if buying into this business and giving art lessons will make you happy, then I’ll support you one hundred percent. But I thought you were happy working on your children’s book—your Hannah book.”

  “I’m not going to give up work on my Hannah book,” Emily said. “As a matter of fact, living on the beach, in the cottage where the book is set, will make doing the watercolors much easier. I won’t have to do them from memory.”

  “I see. Well, you seem to have everything planned.” If he thought he could talk her out of leaving, he would, but he knew Emily well enough to know that once she set her mind to do something, she did it. He saw no alternative but to go along with what she wanted, even though he felt it was a mistake for her to leave him. “If you’re determined to move, I’ll help you. And it goes without saying that if there’s anything here at the house you’d like to take with you...”

  Leaning over, Emily grabbed Fowler and hugged him tightly. “You’re wonderful. You know that, don’t you? I love you, Uncle Fowler.”

  “And I love you, my dear.”

  “Well, what did he say?” Nikki Griffin asked, peering at Emily over a stack of boxes in the middle of the storeroom floor. “Does he know that I’m the person you’re going into business with?”

  Emily looked directly into Nikki’s hazel brown eyes, expressive eyes that gave away Nikki’s feelings far more readily than she ever did by word or action. “No, he doesn’t, but I didn’t see any reason to tell him...yet. After all, he’s having a difficult enough time adjusting to my leaving his house, after my living there the past five years.”

  “Well, he’s going to throw a fit when he finds out that you and I are partners in the Paint Box,” Nikki said. “Your Uncle Fowler doesn’t approve of me. He thinks I’m a shameless hussy.”

  “Well, you have to admit that you didn’t make a very good impression the first time he met you.”

  “Ah, yes.” Nikki sighed dramatically, then threw back her head and laughed, shaking her short, saucy red curls. “That was what...eight months ago? I’d just moved back to Alabama and I went to that charity do with Chip Walters.” Biting down on her bottom lip, Nikki grinned mischievously. “It wasn’t my fault that Chip and Lance Dunham got into a fight over me.”

  Emily couldn’t control the tiny curving of her lips, the almost smile. “I thought Uncle Fowler would die when I told him that the woman at the center of the ruckus had been one of my best friends in college.”

  “Oh, Em, college seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?” Nikki lifted the top box off the stack. “I don’t like to think about the past. It’s too painful.”

  Emily knew a little about her old friend’s past, just as Nikki knew a little about hers. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly eight years when they’d run into each other at the infamous charity function. Since then, they had renewed their old friendship and a few weeks ago decided to go into business together. For entirely different reasons, both she and Nikki wanted to put their pasts behind them.

  “I brought a bottle of champagne,” Emily said. “Why don’t we postpone opening these supplies and go open the bubbly? I think we should make a toast to new beginnings. Yours and mine.”

  “Well, I can’t say it’ll be the first time I’ve had champagne before noon.” Nikki lowered the box back down on the stack, came over to Emily and laced their arms together. “But it will be the first time I’ve shared champagne before noon with another woman.”

  Emily chuckled. “Nikki, you’re awful—you know that, don’t you? No wonder Uncle Fowler thinks you’re a hussy. And no wonder people assume you’re a...a...”

  “A loose woman?”

  “What an expression! Let’s say a woman of the world.” Nikki escorted Emily over to the compact refrigerator in the corner of the makeshift kitchen in the back room of the store. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

  Emily opened the refrigerator and removed the chilled bottle of Dom Perignon.

  Nikki whistled. “Ah, the good stuff.”

  “What do you mean, we’re a pair?” Emily handed Nikki the bottle, then opened a cupboard and retrieved two plastic cups.

  “We’ve both been hiding from the pain of the past, protecting ourselves from ever being hurt again. You in your way, by living in that Victorian mausoleum with your dead husband’s uncle. And by refusing to date anyone except the most nonthreatening types like Charles what’s-his-name. And me by moving around all over the country and dating every eligible man in sight.”

  “A serious relationship really isn’t an option for me.” Holding the bottle over the sink, Emily uncorked the champagne. The overflow spilled down the side of the bottle and across Emily’s hand. “Dating someone other than a nonthreatening type like Charles leads to romance and romance leads to sex and—”

  “The right man won’t care about the scars on your back,” Nikki said quietly. She held out the plastic cups.

  Emily poured the effervescent liquid, then set the bottle on the countertop. Nikki handed a cup to Emily.

  “I didn’t think you believed in the existence of Mr. Right or Prince Charming.”

  “I don’t believe in a Mr. Right for me,” Nikki said. “But for a princess like you, there’s bound to be another Prince Charming just around the corner.”

  “I’d like to make a toast.” Emily lifted her cup in a salute. “Here’s to dreams coming true. To my finding a Prince Charming who won’t even notice the scars on my back...and to your finding that Mr. Right you don’t believe exists.”

  “Ah, Em, what a stupid, romantic toast.” Nikki saluted with her glass, then downed the cup of champagne.

  Chapter 2

  She picked up the telephone receiver. “The Paint Box. Emily Jordan speaking. May I help you?”

  “Emily,” the husky, muted voice said.

  Every nerve in Emily
’s body froze. It was him again. The same man who had been calling her for the past few days. If he persisted, she’d have to call the police. Right now the phone calls were annoying, but not really threatening.

  “What do you want?” Emily asked.

  “To hear your voice.”

  “Please stop harassing me!” Emily slammed down the receiver.

  “Oh, God, it was him again, wasn’t it?” Nikki rushed to Emily’s side. “What did he say?”

  “He said he wanted to hear my voice.”

  “I don’t see why you don’t call the police.” Nikki squeezed Emily’s shoulder reassuringly.

  “He hasn’t actually broken the law. He never threatens me.” Emily sighed.

  “Well, this guy may be doing nothing more than bugging you with annoying phone calls right now, but what if he does more? What if he starts stalking you?”

  “I pray that doesn’t happen, but if he shows his face, at least we’ll know who he is.”

  “I say it’s Charles Tolbert.” Nikki’s button nose crinkled when she frowned. “You said yourself that he was very upset when you told him that you two shouldn’t date anymore because your relationship had no future.”

  “Charles isn’t the type to make husky-voiced phone calls. He’s a nice man. In some ways, he reminds me of Stuart.” Emily’s thoughts drifted back to seven years ago when she’d first fallen in love with Stuart. Happy days, filled with the promise of a perfect future. A future that died a tragic death the morning the Ocean Breeze Apartments collapsed.

  “Then why stop dating Charles?”

  Emily shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe because he does remind me of Stuart. And maybe because...well, to be honest, Nikki, I’m just not attracted to Charles. Not in that way.” Emily gave Nikki a you-know-what-I-mean glance.

  “He doesn’t make your juices flow, huh? I can understand. But Charles isn’t the only man interested in you. What about Rod Simmons? Talk about a hunk.”

  Emily laughed. “Rod Simmons is twenty-two years old! And he’s one of my art students.”

  “So? It’s obvious he has a major crush on you.”

  “Yes, I know. And it’s the major crush he has on me that’s convinced Uncle Fowler that Rod is my secret caller.”

  Nikki idly drummed her fingers on the countertop. “I suppose it could be Rod. But my money is on Charles. Or...”

  “Or?”

  “What about your new neighbor? The blond Adonis you told me about? Maybe breathy phone calls are his way of introducing himself. Hey, is that guy the reason you aren’t going to see Charles again? Have you got the hots for the ‘boy’ next door?”

  Emily laid her hand over Nikki’s, silencing the repetitive tapping. “My new neighbor doesn’t even know my name, let alone my unlisted phone number. Besides, I’m not sure he even knows I’m alive. Just because I’ve noticed him a few times doesn’t mean he’s noticed me.”

  “Well, have you ever thought of just walking over to his cottage and introducing yourself?” Nikki asked. “We both know that Mr. Big, Blond and Gorgeous has gotten your juices flowing more than once.”

  Emily’s cheeks flushed, then she smiled sadly. “He is a very intriguing man. Very virile. And yes, I do find him attractive, but...something tells me that he’s not the type who’d be, interested in a woman like me.”

  A woman whose back and buttocks are hideously scarred. Emily suspected her new neighbor was the type of man who wanted his women physically perfect—as physically perfect as he was.

  “Ah, Em, you’re going to have to get over this hang-up you have about your scars,” Nikki said. “You’re a beautiful woman. And any man worthy of you isn’t going to be turned off by your scars.”

  “I’d like to believe you’re right, that my scars wouldn’t matter. But I—I’m afraid to run the risk. I’d die if a man I cared for turned away from me in revulsion when he saw my naked back.”

  Before Nikki could respond, Emily picked up a stack of envelopes off the top of the counter, handed them to Nikki and said, “You go ahead and take care of the new bills that came today and I’ll keep an eye on the shop until my next art lesson.”

  Nikki grasped the mail, nodded agreement and headed for the storeroom that doubled as kitchen and office space. Emily took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. She knew Nikki meant well when she encouraged her to get to know her new neighbor, when Nikki assured her that the right man wouldn’t care about her scars. But she just wasn’t ready. Not yet. She had been living out on her own for only a few months and she and Nikki were trying to get their business off the ground. And for the past week, she’d had to deal with some whispering Romeo aggravating her with lovesick phone calls. No, most definitely, positively, no! Despite her attraction to the Viking god who’d moved into the cottage next to hers, the last thing Emily needed at this point in her life was to fall in love.

  “Have you lost your freaking mind?” Zed Banning asked, his dark eyes glowering at Mitch. “You’ve rented a cottage next door to Emily Jordan!”

  Mitch glanced around the restaurant and grimaced when he noticed several nearby patrons staring pointedly at Zed and him. “Calm down, will you? Hell, you’d have thought I just told you that I’m sleeping with her. All I did was move in next door, to sort of keep an eye on her. That’s all. For now.”

  “For now?” Grunting in disgust, Zed shook his head. “The woman has survived for five years without any help from you. I think if she’s made it this long, she’s all right.”

  “You told me that she’d lived with her husband’s uncle up until a few months ago,” Mitch said. “She hasn’t been living out on her own since... Dammit, all I want to do is make sure she really is all right. And if there is anything I can do to help her, to make up for... Well, you know what I mean.”

  “You want Emily Jordan’s forgiveness.” Zed lifted the cup to his lips, hesitated momentarily and looked Mitch square in the eye. “You’re playing with fire here, buddy boy. You want something from the lady she might not be able to give you. What then?”

  “I don’t know,” Mitch admitted. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  Zed finished off his coffee. “Look, you’ve turned your life around these past few months. You’re sober. You’re clean. And you’ve got a job. Don’t screw things up now by getting involved with Emily Jordan. I have some idea how you feel about her, but—”

  “You have no idea.” Mitch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the table’s edge with both hands. “I’ve spent five years being driven crazy with the memory of that woman’s lifeless body thrown over a fireman’s shoulder. Even when I came out of my drunkest stupors, thoughts of her were always the first thing that entered my fuzzy brain.”

  “You’re obsessed with Emily Jordan, with redeeming yourself in her eyes. And I’m afraid you’re setting yourself up for a fall. If you follow through with your plan, you’re going to get hurt. And so is Emily Jordan.”

  “I know you think I’m nuts, but I’m not. I have to do this. I don’t have any other choice.”

  “We always have other choices,” Zed told him.

  “I don’t,” Mitch said. “Not about this. Without Emily Jordan’s forgiveness, I’ll never be able to live any kind of normal life.”

  Emily watched the stranger. He stood alone on the porch of the beachfront cottage, his gaze riveted to the boundless horizon. He didn’t look at the beauty before him, the soft glimmering sand, the Gulf waters, the clear blue sky overhead; instead his vision seemed trapped, almost spellbound by something he could not see, except in his mind’s eye.

  Was he remembering something he could never forget? Emily wondered. She understood, only too well, the galvanizing effect of memories.

  She had watched the man for the past month, ever since he’d moved into the house on the beach next to hers. Not being naturally nosy, she hadn’t deliberately set out to spy on him. But she couldn’t help being curious.

  The stranger came outside every morning, wearing a
pair of tattered jeans and no shirt, despite the chill of the spring breeze. As usual he held a mug in his hand, occasionally taking a sip as he stared out at the bay.

  Emily did not want to find the man attractive. But she did. He was brutally masculine. Big, tall and muscular. A bit heavier and even more muscular than he’d been when he’d first moved in. He was tanned and powerful in the way only a man who did manual labor could look. Pure feminine instincts told her that his hard body hadn’t been perfected in an athletic club nor had his tan been acquired from spending leisure hours lying in a tanning bed.

  Although Emily had seen him only from a distance, on his porch early in the morning or late at night, and once in a while walking alone on the beach, she could tell his features were sharp, chiseled perfection. High cheekbones, slanting eyes, square chin. His blond hair was golden in the sun and a bit shaggy, but not overly long. And brown stubble shadowed his face. Obviously, he didn’t shave every day.

  She wasn’t quite sure why she was so drawn to the man. Her feelings defied reasonable explanations. As crazy as the notion was, Emily thought she could feel the man’s bitter loneliness, could sense some horrible guilt that ate away at his soul, and she was actually sharing the deep aching hurt inside him.

  Foolish thoughts! A lonely romantic’s daydream. Nothing connected her to this man, this stranger, except the proximity of their dwellings along the beach. It’s your own loneliness and pain you feel, not his, she told herself. Five years. Five long, lonely, painful years. And this was the first man since Stuart’s death she had noticed—truly noticed—in that stomach-turning, breast-tightening, femininity-clenching way.

  Why this man? And why now? Because she was a woman. who, more than anything, wanted to love again, to marry again, to have...to have a child again. Stuart, her college sweetheart, had been the only man in her life, and since his death, there had been no one in her heart or in her bed. Despite Uncle Fowler’s hopes that their relationship would blossom into love, Emily and Charles Tolbert could never be more than friends.