by Rita Herron
A hideous laugh filled the air. “I dropped hints that he was unfaithful, but you ignored them. Didn’t even see that lipstick until they searched your car. I thought you’d die in that wreck, but no, you went into a coma. I tried to finish you off in the hospital—”
“You were there? You tried to kill me?” Emma’s voice quavered.
Martha nodded. “Yes. But he came back to see you, sat by your side all the time. Damn him, he should have stayed with Faye.”
“And you tried to shoot me and later shoved me down the steps at the house?” Emma asked. “Then you broke into Kate’s and tried to smother me again.”
Martha’s head jerked up, the rain hood falling back, exposing her soggy gray hair. “Yeah, except you won’t die,” Martha wailed.
“But why did you bring me out here? Why not just shoot me at home?”
“I knew they’d find you at home. Your sister would be back any minute and they’d know it was me. I wanted time to get away with Carly!”
“Why didn’t you just kill me?” Grant asked. “I’m the one who knew Faye. Don’t hurt Emma. Faye wouldn’t want that.”
Emma gave him a beseeching look, but he had to lure Martha’s attention away from her. It worked. Martha whipped the gun around toward Grant. “’Cause I wanted you to suffer the way I had, to know what it was like to lose someone, your baby girl…” Tears filled her tormented eyes, and Grant almost felt sorry for her.
“Is Carly the grandchild you’ve been shopping for?” Emma asked, and he realized she was trying to distract Martha so he could edge closer to her.
Martha nodded, the lines beside her eyes softening. “Carly’s going to be the grandchild I should have had years ago. I fixed Faye’s room up for her. Little pink and blue teddy bears on the wall. She’ll love it.”
Grant’s stomach churned as the pieces fell into place, all the while edging closer to Martha.
“So Faye was the daughter you said lived in Atlanta, the one who was pregnant?” Emma asked.
“She would have lived in Atlanta one day, would have had a fancy job, a great place to live, just like I said she did, all those dreams I had for her,” Martha said in an oddly distant voice. “And she would have gotten married and given me grandchildren, and I would have loved them.”
A shudder rippled through Grant. Martha had completely distorted the facts surrounding her daughter’s death, and he’d become the scapegoat.
“I’m sorry she died,” Emma said softly. “I know you miss her, Martha. But think about Carly. You love her, and she’ll miss me if you kill me.”
“She loves me already,” Martha said, her teeth clicking as she vigorously nodded her head. “She loves me and she’ll forget all about you.”
He was a hairbreadth away from her now. “You can’t kill Emma,” Grant said, grateful when Martha swung around to face him, giving Emma time to pick her way off the bridge. “Faye wouldn’t have wanted that, Martha. Faye would have been disappointed. She thought you were so good, so perfect. That’s why she didn’t tell you about the baby, she didn’t want to disappoint you.”
His arguments seemed to be working. Martha’s hand wavered.
“You don’t want Faye watching you from heaven, seeing you blame an innocent woman for her death, hurting an innocent baby by taking her mother away from her.”
The wildness in Martha’s eyes melted as she turned her face to the sky. She let out an anguished cry, then pointed the gun at herself. Emma gasped and Grant dove, knocking the gun from her hands. Martha fell to the ground. Then she curled within herself and lay on the wet boards sobbing, despondent, until the police arrived.
GRANT GRABBED THE GUN, and Emma fell into his arms as soon as he untied her hands, laying her head against his muscled chest and hearing his heart pounding. They were both alive, here together, and that was all that mattered.
“Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” His hands were everywhere at once, feeling to see if she was injured.
Emma shook her head, tears of relief clogging her throat. “I’m okay, Grant, really.”
He cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done—”
“Shh, I’m here and I’m fine,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Where’s Carly?” Grant asked, and she realized he’d probably been frantic about the baby, afraid Martha had done something with her.
“She’s with Kate,” Emma said quickly. “Kate took her before Martha pulled the gun on me.”
“Thank God.” He brushed the rain and tears from her face, pushed back her damp hair and kissed her.
Warner walked over, nodding toward the police car where he’d secured Martha. “You two want to come to the station later and give me a statement?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Detective.”
Warner tipped his hat. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
Emma stared at the blue swirling lights, wondering if it would ever be over for the sick woman in the car. “She’ll receive some therapy, won’t she?”
“You can bet on it,” Warner said. Then he strode back to the car, climbed in and drove away.
Emma breathed in the crisp clean smell that follows a heavy rain. Grant cupped her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his, kissing her reverently. “I was so scared, so afraid I was going to lose you. I don’t care about the past. Nothing matters except—”
“Shh,” Emma whispered, wanting for once to be able to comfort him. “When you showed up, I knew everything would be okay, Grant.” She brushed his mouth with a kiss, trying to tell him with her eyes how much she trusted their love. “I knew because I love you so much.”
“And I love you, too, Emma. I never want us to be apart again.”
“Never. You’re not only my husband, you’re my friend, my lover, my hero.”
A slow sexy smile curved his mouth as he fell to one knee. They both laughed when mud squished around his jeans-clad leg. Then he clasped her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “Will you marry me, Emma?” He grinned rakishly. “Again, that is.”
Her heart fluttered like the butterfly that suddenly glided out from behind a pine. “Yes, Grant, I’ll marry you.”
He stood and swung her into his arms, kissing her face and neck. Emma smiled, tears in her eyes, but he wiped them away and kissed her, then whispered a promise. “This time, sweetheart, we’re going to have a wedding you’ll always remember.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7854-1
FORGOTTEN LULLABY
Copyright © 2000 by Rita B. Herron
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
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