“I think it looks great.” Emily slipped past her and grabbed a couple of glasses from the cabinet. “A little formal for envelope-stuffing, but nice.”
Lauren dodged Roger’s swat to her backside and skittered to the fridge for the tea pitcher. Watching the two of them together made Emily wistful. They always seemed to have fun and enjoy each other. As she filled the glasses with ice, she slipped a peek at Scott, who had nabbed a tortilla chip on the kitchen island and was dousing it in salsa while Roger chatted about some baseball game. Scott had exhibited his playful side more often since they’d started dating, and she loved it. Would it continue after they were married?
Would they get married?
The thought sent delicious shivers down her spine.
Was he over his shyness enough to propose?
Even that silly kiss on the front porch had sufficiently started her blood simmering in her veins. A white gown, a set of vows, and a soft, romantic honeymoon night—
An ice cube fell and slid across the floor, and Emily mentally smacked herself back to reality.
Lauren scooped up the ice and tossed it in the sink. “You’re as bad as I am. Can’t fill a glass without at least one cube landing on the floor.”
“May as well throw it down. You know it’s going to fall anyway.” Scott took a glass from Emily with a gentle touch of his hand that sent tingles up her arm. The idea of marrying that man grew more powerful by the minute. The warmth she felt now had little to do with virginal purity.
“Who’s ready to work?” Lauren filled her glass with tea and headed for the table. “We’ve got a lot of foldin’, stuffin’, and stickin’ to do.”
“About a hundred times.” Roger pulled out a chair near the stamps. “These jobbers are self-adhesive. I reckon this is the perfect job for me.”
“You’re not getting off that easy.” Lauren divided the envelopes and mailing labels between him and Scott. “These are self-adhesive, too. Wouldn’t want you to strain your tongue.”
Roger poked his out at her, and she laughed as she lowered herself in the chair next to him. Emily sat across from Lauren, next to Scott, and began folding the flyers into thirds. But before the crew was good and started, Scott’s cell beeped.
“Hey, Dani, What’s up?...uh-huh.” He rose from his seat. “Yeah...Where am I going?...tell him I’m on my way.” He snapped his phone shut, and Emily’s heart plummeted. “Sorry folks, I’ve got an emergency. Blue heeler caught in a barbed wire fence.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” Lauren said. “Can you save it?”
“Won’t know until I see him.” He laid a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Walk me out?”
With her hand in his, Emily walked with him to his pickup. This wasn’t how she’d planned the evening when Lauren had told her he would be coming. Of course, daydreaming about their wedding hadn’t been in the plans either. That was a bonus.
When they reached his truck, Scott turned and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Sorry about this.”
“It’s an emergency. You have to go.”
“Call you later?”
“Sure.” She stepped closer and rested her hands on his shirt. “You can call me anytime.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer still, and bowed to meet her lips. The kiss he gave her was guaranteed to cause neighborhood gossip, but she didn’t care. Her hands savored his muscular chest and snaked around his neck so her fingers could curl in his hair. Her knees were threatening to melt just as he pulled away.
He took a deep breath and relaxed his hold on her. “Bad night for an emergency.”
She nodded. “But you can’t let that poor dog suffer.”
“Nope.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Want to join me for the Wednesday night youth group tomorrow? We can go out to dinner right after.”
The question startled her, and her fingers stilled from twirling a lock of his hair. She hadn’t thought of returning to church since the picnic, but perhaps she could. No one seemed to know of her past. But her nerves still stretched taut at the thought. Members of her own church in Houston had been so cruel. She just wasn’t sure she was ready...
Before she could think of a response, he tilted her chin to study her face. “Maybe lunch would be better?”
A sigh of relief escaped her lips, and she smiled. “No place fancy, though. I’ll be working on the house again tomorrow.”
“No place fancy.” He kissed her, unlocked his truck, and climbed in. With a parting wave, he took off.
Emily waved back, watched his taillights round the corner, and then touched warm fingers to swollen lips. She sighed at the emptiness his absence caused, marveled at the understanding he’d exhibited.
He’d never stopped asking her to church, but he hadn’t pushed either. Such patience.
Maybe she should propose to him.
23
Inside the cat refuge, Emily peeked between the curtains covering the storefront windows. Sure enough. Goodrich’s sedan sat across the street, sparkling in the early morning sunlight. He held a newspaper in front of his face like a dime-novel detective.
After a belly rub for Bulldog, Emily climbed the inside stairs to her apartment. With everything going on—the auction, her house, that newshound-on-the-scent downstairs—retiring Millie had been a smart move. She just didn’t feel quirky and colorful. She felt...harried—unless she thought about Scott. Then she felt like a love-sick teenager. Right now, nothing in her life allowed room for the little eccentric lady’s wanderings.
She grabbed her purse, crossed the living room to the back door, then headed out to the stairs behind the building—where Paul Goodrich leaned against the rail with his hands in his pockets and that exasperating smile slapped across his face.
“Good morning. How’s Millie today?”
“She’s fine.”
“You give her the net?”
“Of course.”
“Reckon she has a minute to talk to me?”
Emily glanced at the door. “She’s still resting. She wanted to sleep in this morning.” His I don’t buy it smirk unnerved her, but she raised her chin. “Perhaps if you called in advance instead of hanging out here like some deranged stalker, you’d have a better chance of catching her.”
“Sure. Got her number?”
“Look it up!” She sidestepped around him and darted down the stairs with him on her heels.
“Can’t very well look it up if I don’t know her last name.” In a dance that was becoming far too familiar, he raced to open her car door. “You don’t seem to like me very much. I’m just doing my job, you know.”
“So far, your job has involved stalking my friend and harassing me. I’m amazed you’d consider that endearing.” She jammed her key into the ignition and yanked the door out of his grasp to slam it shut. With barely a glance to check for traffic, she spun out of her parking place and shot into the street.
Whether or not he was doing his job, he was a nuisance. Surely he could find something in Dogwood more interesting than a little old lady.
At the post office, Emily loaded her arms with the bundles of flyers she’d left in the car overnight and dropped them into an out-going mail slot. She stopped at her box and opened it. Inside were the usual circulars, the latest edition of a popular cat magazine, and an official-looking letter from her attorney in Houston. Her hands shook as she ripped open the envelope.
“This is to inform you of the upcoming parole hearing of Peter Michael Murray, aka Wade Robert Coulter, set for 9:00 AM, Monday, September 12...”
In two weeks? How could he be scheduled for a hearing so soon? His sentence had been far lighter than Emily had expected, but still she thought the time he was required to serve would be longer than this.
Clutching the mail to her chest, she darted from the post office. Back in her car, she dug her phone from her bag and called Connor.
“Maybe they’re crediting him with time served,” Connor said. “If he’s been a
model prisoner, they could be cutting him a break.”
“What if that ‘model prisoner’ comes after me?”
“Calm down. You’re getting ahead of yourself. We don’t know that he’ll be released after this hearing.”
“But he’ll be released someday, either on parole or after serving out his sentence. What if he comes after me then?”
“Look, I searched your name on the Internet once and had a hard time finding anything current. Even your birth certificate lists your birthplace as Lufkin instead of Dogwood, and your real estate is under the name of All Creatures, Inc. So are your utilities. And your phone number is unlisted. If you’re sure you never told him where your hometown is, he’s not going to find you easily.”
She was sure. At least she thought she was.
Wade’s ego had rarely allowed discussion beyond himself and the money he needed to raise.
What on earth had she seen in him?
****
Scott examined the blue heeler as it slept off the anesthesia. The dog was lucky to be alive after ripping open his belly in a battle against the sharp wire, but even surgery didn’t guarantee he’d stay that way. Scott would’ve euthanized the animal if not for the owner’s pleas to save him. Hours of surgery, a good cleansing of the innards, and a healthy dose of the strongest antibiotic available in veterinary medicine might save the dog’s life, but what pushed survival more in his favor had been the prayer Scott and the owner had intoned after all was done. Scott had no doubt the Creator cared for all His creations.
He checked the IV in the dog’s foreleg before moving on to the feline side of the practice. Quite some time had passed since one of Millie’s captives occupied a spot back here.
Had she lost her touch? He hadn’t seen her around town lately. As private as she was, no doubt Paul Goodrich had spooked her, especially if he was hanging around near the apartment, as Emily said.
When Scott talked to him, the reporter had shown interest in Millie as the town’s anonymous benefactor—a surprise, since nothing about her indicated an ability to dole out large sums of money on a whim. She had no place of her own. Her feet were her only apparent means of transportation. Her clothes were dirt cheap.
Between Emily and Millie, Scott would’ve bet on Emily as the more likely benefactor, but since she just bought the old Farley place, she probably didn’t have the funds to spread all over town.
Thoughts of Emily’s excitement over her new house brought a smile to his lips. Thoughts of her in general made him smile. She had offered the slightest pout when he had to leave Lauren’s house last night, just enough to make him want to think twice about answering the emergency call. The kiss she’d given him when she walked him to the truck left him craving for more. He wouldn’t mind a lifetime supply.
A mewling, tiger-striped kitten propped her front paws against the wire caging her. Scott retrieved her and absently stroked her silky belly.
Although he’d been growing deeper in love with Emily with every date, the fact she never opened up about the years she was gone still gnawed at him. What had changed her? He’d been careful not to ask about Houston, but the longer they dated, the more difficult silence became. Everything he’d learned about her had come in dribs and drabs during the year since she’d returned, and it wasn’t much.
Each answer seemed to result in more questions. But all the questions fell into two categories: What happened in Houston? And why had she stopped going to church?
There was a third question which was gaining prominence in his mind: Would he ever be able to get her to return to worship services?
How great it would be to have her with him, to be able to escort her to their seats, drape his arm around her, hold her hand while they prayed together. Marrying her in that church, watching their kids be baptized in it—all the things that rang of roots and home and permanence revolved around the church he’d grown up in. They’d grown up in. What he wouldn’t give to get her back in it.
He sighed. A little more time, a few more dates, and maybe she’d give in. Meantime, he could slip some questions into some of their easy moments together. Today’s lunch break would count as one of those dates, but he couldn’t risk questioning her because they’d be rushed. Rushed or not, any time spent with her was special.
According to his clock, he had three hours before he could see her. Three long hours.
“Sheriff Bailey’s on two,” Dani called from the front desk. Her informality was one of the reasons he liked her. For one so young, she had a quick mind and ran the office like an old pro, but pressing a button on the intercom to announce patients or calls wasn’t her style. She found yelling down the hall far more effective.
Scott put the kitten back in her cage and jabbed the button on the phone. “Hey, Quint.”
“Hey, yourself. What’s your schedule like today?”
“Swamped. Why?”
“We got a bunch of horses at the Expo Center’s corral. I’m calling everyone I can to take some of them. You got room for one or two?”
“What kind of shape are they in?”
“Couple of them are in serious shape. I got Doc Clifton over in Longview to take them. But the other two ain’t bad, just a bit skinny, a few flesh wounds in their hide. Stuff needing constant care more than high technology.”
Scott’s stable only had two stalls, but Scotch Bonnet was well enough to turn loose in the pasture. “I’ll take those two, then. How ’bout I pick them up after work?”
“Won’t do. How ’bout now?”
“Won’t do. How ’bout lunch time?”
“See ya then.”
Lunch with Emily would have to be on the run, assuming she’d be interested in riding out to the arena. A quick call confirmed she would be. That old game-for-anything spirit he’d loved about her when they were young was still part of her personality. At least that hadn’t changed in Houston.
****
With Emily beside him in the pickup and the trailer heavy with the weight of two scarred and skittish Appaloosas, Scott drove a farmer’s forty miles per hour back to his house. He was in no hurry since his one o’clock appointment had canceled. It was twelve-thirty now. He had an hour to unload and get back to work.
“I didn’t realize you were such a hand with horses,” Emily said. “When did you develop a love for them?”
“I’ve always loved horses.” He reached for her hand and was rewarded by her fingers entwining with his own. “Equine medicine fascinated me in college.”
“But you have a small animal clinic. You didn’t want to work on horses?”
“It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s what I can afford, and I can’t afford the special equipment necessary for a large-animal clinic.” He took a left turn off the highway onto a red-clay road. “The sheriff knows how much I can handle, so he doesn’t call me for the worst cases.” He parked his rig near the paddock gate and killed the engine.
Emily, dressed sensibly in jeans and tennis shoes, was a prime candidate—the only candidate—to help him unload the trailer and settle the horses in.
“You mind getting a bit dirty?”
“Not at all.” She climbed from the truck and circled around to meet him at the trailer gate. “Just tell me what to do.”
She worked alongside him, feeding the horses and tending their wounds. Gingerly, she applied ointment to a shoulder laceration.
“You look like you enjoy this work,” Scott said.
“I think I would, given the chance to do it regularly.” She smiled over the mare’s withers. “You love it, too. You really ought to open a clinic.”
“Maybe someday, when the money’s right. For now, I’m content working with small animals.” He screwed the top onto the ointment tube. “Which reminds me. How’s Millie?”
Emily’s concentration on her horse intensified; her lips tightened as she studied a wound along the animal’s spine. “Don’t you think this is infected?”
“Here, let me look.”
The injury indeed looked infected—red and pus-filled. He shaved around it, washed it with a strong antibiotic soap, then covered it with the ointment. That Emily had avoided his question hadn’t escaped him.
Whenever she didn’t want to talk about something, she changed the subject, although she’d never done it before when he asked about Millie. Something was up, but whatever it was, she wouldn’t tell him. Once she decided to keep a secret, it was kept.
Still, he wasn’t giving up so easily. “So, how is Millie? I haven’t seen her since she jumped from my truck.”
“She’s fine.”
“Still hunting cats?”
“No, not so much.”
“I reckon all that attention scared her some.”
“A bit.”
Scott ground his teeth. He could shape a horseshoe barehanded easier than he could get this woman to talk when she didn’t want to. How many secrets was she holding anyway? She wouldn’t talk about Houston or about why she left the church, and now she wouldn’t talk about Millie.
He didn’t have much time to press the issue, but come Friday night, he was going to get answers if he had to pry open her mouth and yank the words out himself.
24
“I can’t believe it took Scott a year to get you over here!” In an aromatic cloud of perfume and roasted chicken, the plump, buxom Rita Barlow wrapped Emily in a hug as warm as sunshine and as comfortable as a down pillow. Then she held her at arm’s length and scowled. “Shame on you. If you weren’t going to come to church when you got back from Houston, you should’ve at least come here.”
A twinge of guilt struck a nerve, and Emily offered an apologetic smile. “You’re right, Mrs. Barlow, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“We’re all adults now. Call me Rita.” She patted Emily’s shoulder. “I’m going to finish up with dinner. You two just make yourselves at home.”
“Anything I can do?” Emily asked.
“I can always use a couple of extra hands.”
Emily followed Rita through the dining room, where the table was stretched to its fullest size. In the kitchen, mashed potatoes, buttered corn, and English peas speckled with pearl onions steamed from what must’ve been Rita’s best crockery. She freed a pair of roasted chickens from the oven, and the aroma of thyme and rosemary perfumed the air.
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