“Goodness, it looks like you’re feeding half of Dogwood,” Emily exclaimed.
“Nah, I’d need more chickens for that many.” Rita settled the roaster on a hot pad on the countertop and pointed with her chin to a pine hutch. “Plates and glasses are over there. Flatware is in that drawer right under.”
The doorbell rang, and friendly greetings erupted from the living room while Emily opened the hutch. “You planned a party, huh? How many settings do we need?”
“Six,” Rita said.
The preacher, Micah Walton, clomped into the kitchen, filling the entire room with his presence. From behind his massive frame emerged Paul Goodrich and the woman he’d been with in Zabaglione’s.
Emily fumbled the plates, and they clattered on the shelf—but didn’t break, thank heavens. Her face was already burning; if she’d actually broken the dishes, her cheeks would’ve incinerated in a flash.
Scott entered behind them, and she speared him with a glare. He lifted his hands as if to say he was as surprised as she.
“Emily! Good to see you!” Micah’s voice boomed and echoed in the small kitchen. He suffocated her in a hug and then rested a meaty paw on her shoulder and gently pushed her toward the journalist. “Emily Taylor, I’d like you to meet Paul and Amber Goodrich.”
Paul nodded. “Actually, we’ve met...almost. I never caught your name.” The congenial smile on his lips contradicted the journalistic interest quirking his brows. “How is Millie today?”
With nerves stretched taut, Emily straightened her spine. “I really don’t know. I haven’t seen her.”
“Funny how no one seems to know her last name. You two must be the most secretive women in Dogwood.”
The heat returned to Emily’s cheeks. “Really, I—”
“I’d still like to talk to her. You gave her my card, didn’t you?”
“Now, Paul.” Amber Goodrich placed a hand on his arm, and her diamonds flared in the kitchen light. “We don’t need to be discussing business tonight. We’re guests here. How nice to meet you, Emily.”
“You, too,” she mumbled. Amber offered a gracious smile, and Emily’s lips twitched in return. If she discovered Scott had known about this…
Micah slapped Paul on the back. “These two are looking for a new church, and I figured if I couldn’t convince them to join ours based on my preaching alone, I’d draw out the secret weapon of Rita’s cooking.” His smile spotlighted Rita in a manner extending beyond Christian love, and she fluttered a hand at him.
Again Emily caught Scott’s eye and raised a questioning brow. Again he shrugged. Typical man. Totally oblivious. Scott hadn’t a clue of what Emily had seen in an instant: The widower Micah Walton was wooing Rita Barlow. Which meant he wasn’t there solely to get Emily back in church. That was one worry off her mind.
Paul Goodrich, however, was another matter.
“Supper’s about ready now.” Rita shooed everyone out. “You all go make yourselves comfortable. Wash your hands, Scotty. And anyone else who feels they need to.”
Emily stayed behind to put ice in the glasses and pour the tea. Her nerves stretched to the snapping point, but she couldn’t very well sneak out and hide. Regardless of how much she wanted to. She was being silly. The word ninny popped into her head again, and she smiled.
Paul Goodrich didn’t know anything, only that she was acquainted with Millie. And with so many others at the table, Emily could easily shift the focus off herself if he intended to pry this evening. She lifted her chin and marched into the dining room with the plates and flatware.
****
“Awful about all the fires, isn’t it?” Rita passed the peas to Amber. “I just can’t imagine losing my house that way.”
“I know. It’s terrible,” Amber said. “That last one was just three doors away from us.”
“Somebody ought to put a stop to it,” Micah rumbled. “I thought they were bringing in some specialist from the FBI.”
“They did,” Paul said. “An arson investigator from the Dallas office, name of Lamont. Jillian Lamont. She’s been to each of the houses now, but whatever she discovered, she’s holding it close to her vest.”
Rita beamed across the table at Emily. “Emily’s planning a fundraiser for the victims. Auction, right?”
“Yes, but I’m just helping, Lau—”
“You’re being too modest! Scotty says—”
“Been fishing lately?” Scott lifted the rolls from the table and passed them to Micah.
“Just last night, in fact. One old bass gave me quite a battle...”
As Micah recounted his victory, Emily flicked Scott a grateful smile.
Paul wore a curious look. Something in his expression made her uneasy, as if he’d latched onto a clue and was anxious to follow it. He raised a brow. “When is the auction going to be?”
She shifted in her seat. Why couldn’t Micah’s fish be newsworthy? “In a couple of weeks.”
“I’m donating a few procedures,” Scott announced.
Rita patted his hand. “That’s good. You always were a generous sort.”
Micah scratched his chin. “I don’t know how many folks will bid on a free sermon, but maybe they’d like a fishing trip for a few kids and their parents?”
“I can contribute a wedding cake or two,” Rita said.
“That is so generous. All of you.” Emily’s throat tightened.
Micah’s love of fishing and kids was known throughout the county, and his private pond jumped with panfish. His offer could bring in quite a bit of cash. As could Scott’s. Her own bank account was witness to how charitable his offer was. But Rita’s cakes! Her pastries were coveted all over East Texas. The smallest of her wedding cakes was priced over seven hundred.
Emily couldn’t wait to tell Lauren.
“I have a score card autographed by Arnold Palmer, the pro golfer,” Paul said. “I’ll be happy to add it to the items to be auctioned.”
Amber clasped his arm. “Oh, honey, that would be a terrific contribution. And I could donate an autographed book!” She named the title and author with a glowing smile.
Emily gasped. “Your generosity is overwhelming.”
“And well-appreciated,” Micah said. “No one can say Dogwood doesn’t take care of its own. We’re a good lot of folks here. Good folks.”
Paul caught Emily’s gaze and held it. His donation had a price tag, but she couldn’t imagine what it could be. Nor did she want to.
25
Scott showed Spencer how to change the dressing on the Appaloosa’s spine wound. The laceration was healing well; the skin surrounding it looked pink and healthy. Just a quarter-sized spot of gray remained in the middle.
“I asked Dad about keeping Scotch Bonnet.”
Scott hid a grin. The boy didn’t know his dad had already asked about the horse. “What did he say?”
“He hasn’t said anything yet.”
Scott rubbed his brow. Over a week had passed since he’d brought the Appaloosas to his place, and before long, paying for both them and Bonnet would be too much. He knew he’d promised Parker some time, but at the time, he hadn’t anticipated boarding two more horses. “Well, I’m going to have to find a home for her soon.”
Spencer’s hands stopped moving. “Why? You have three horses here, and they’re all doing good. I thought you said you could only handle two, but you’re handling three real good. And I can help. Really! I’ll come every day and help with the horses. I’ll feed ’em and tend their wounds and muck the stalls. Whatever you need. And you can count that as pay for boarding Bonnet, couldn’t you? Couldn’t you do that?”
Scott shook his head. “How are you going to find time to do it all? School starts soon, and your work hours at Chapman’s will be later in the day. It’s fine now, especially since today is Saturday, but pretty soon you’re going to get tired of the added responsibility on school nights.”
“No, I—”
“And what about this spring when baseball
season starts? You’ll be on the high school team this year. You going to give that up to muck stalls?”
“I can do it. I can do all that and take care of the horses. You’ll see. Give me a chance, will ya?”
The boy’s eyes pleaded with Scott, ripping his heart out. But he had to be firm. “I’m sorry, buddy. I just can’t do it. Even if you could do everything you say, I can’t afford to keep a healthy horse and still take care of two injured ones.”
Spencer’s face splotched with red, his eyes turned stony. Without another word, he turned and stomped away.
Scott flexed his hands as Spencer’s tires spun clots into the air in his eagerness to leave. The boy was always so angry these days, and having a horse—or any pet, really—might help settle him.
If only things were different and Scott could afford to keep every horse he wanted...but that just wasn’t the reality of his bank account. His clinic brought in decent money, but the nature of small animal practice dictated he’d never get rich.
The best he could do for Spencer was to call the boy’s father before putting an ad in the paper. Finding someone to adopt an old horse took time. Maybe it would be all the time Parker needed to make a decision.
His cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket.
“Want to go to Jefferson with me?” Emily’s voice sang in the receiver and instantly lifted his spirits.
He grinned. “The most romantic town in Texas? You bet.”
“The romantic side is nice, but so are the antique shops. I need to find some furniture for the parlor. I’m almost finished with it.”
“Good enough reason to go. Be there in two seconds.”
“Hold on. I’ll be there in two seconds—wherever ‘there’ is. Are you at work?”
“Home. You don’t want me to come get you?”
“No. I feel like driving. If I haven’t been cooped up remodeling the house with Roger and his crew, I’ve been cooped up working on the auction with Lauren. I’m ready for a change, and a long drive will do me good.”
“Well, your two seconds are up and I don’t see that convertible flying down my drive. When will you be here?”
“Give me thirty minutes.”
“Not one minute longer.”
****
As they drove with the top down, Emily’s hair whipped behind her, giving her a carefree look Scott hadn’t seen in a while. He liked it.
Twenty minutes from town, mid-morning on a glorious September day, and all thoughts of Spencer sloughed away.
Scott stole another look at Emily. Her cheeks flushed in the wind, her freckles brightened under the sun’s rays, and the corners of her mouth curled up with contentment. Her guard was down.
He stretched his arm across her seat back. “Hear any more from Goodrich?”
“No, thank heavens. He was really getting to be a pest.”
“I bet Millie’s glad he’s out of the picture.”
“You can say that again.”
Scott studied the horizon for a moment. The opportunity to learn more about Emily had never been better. How many questions could he ask before he totally wrecked their day? More than just that one, surely.
“You know, you never did tell me about your store in Houston.” He maneuvered carefully into the subject she’d been avoiding for the past year. “What was it? Deck the Halls?”
“Deck the Walls. Just a play on words. It was a great little store. Turned a good profit within the first two years.”
“Decorating doodads?”
“Well, yes, but more than that. All kinds of imported and domestic fabrics for drapes and curtains. Upholstery fabrics. Wallpaper—many of my own design.”
“Sounds impressive.”
“It was. I loved it. Being an interior decorator allowed me into some of the most prominent homes in Houston and the surrounding area.”
“If you loved it so much, why did you sell your business?”
Emily stiffened. “Do you hear that? It sounds like it’s coming from my engine. Do you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“That tapping. It’s so faint, but I hear it. Don’t you?”
No, he didn’t. And he doubted it was even there. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can’t hear a thing.”
“Oh, well. Maybe it’s nothing.” She flashed him a dazzling smile. “Where do you want to eat when we get there?” She listed a few restaurants. “I love them all.”
“They’re good. Any one is fine.” Scott slumped in his seat and watched the trees zip by. Emily could erect a wall faster than anyone he knew.
Her hand slid down his arm and came to rest in his. An apology? He looked at her tapered fingers. Her palms were rough, and the nails were stained from the work she’d done on the old Farley place.
He gave her hand a squeeze. Apology accepted. For now. “Actually, I could go for a hamburger.”
****
What a productive day it had been. Emily had found a Victorian double-end settee framed in rich walnut, a pair of matching salon chairs with needlepoint cushions, and an incredible oval coffee table mounted on an ornately carved pedestal. Each piece was a genuine antique, masterfully crafted and beautifully maintained. Of course, the price of the entire set was astronomical, but she took less than an instant to decide to buy it.
With her financial situation being as tight as it was for now, the best she could do was leave a down payment with the overjoyed merchant. Then, using the camera on her phone, she’d taken several pictures of the jacquard upholstery on the settee. She couldn’t wait to design matching wallpaper. The parlor would come together nicely with the addition of the furniture.
“I can see the wheels turning in your head,” Scott said from the passenger seat. “You must be planning where you’re going to put all that stuff.”
Emily almost jumped at his voice; she’d forgotten he was in the car with her. She emitted a giggle more appropriate for a nervous cheerleader and apologized. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I was doing.” Her cell phone rang from somewhere in her bag, and she asked Scott to get it.
“Em’s Interior Design. This is her ever-faithful servant speaking.”
She swatted him and grabbed the phone.
Lauren was still laughing. “I take it you’re on a date.”
“Of sorts,” Emily said. “We’re just coming back from Jefferson. What’s up?”
“Well, I have some bad news. Tracy broke her legs and one of her arms while they were on vacation.”
Emily gasped. Tracy was Lauren’s younger sister. Emily knew her almost as well as she knew Lauren. “What happened?”
“They were on vacation, hiking in Big Bend. She slipped and fell off a cliff. It’s a wonder she’s alive.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear it. How are Dave and the kids?”
“They’re fine, thank heavens. Not a scratch on any of them. But I have to go to Shreveport and take care of everyone for a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” Emily almost swerved into the next lane. “Hold on. Let me pull over.” Once the car was idling on the shoulder, Emily spoke sharply to Lauren. “The auction is coming up. Surely you mean you have to leave after it!”
“They need me now. David’s leaving on a business trip tomorrow, and I have to help with the kids.”
Emily rubbed her temple. “Of course you do. I can’t believe I even said that. It was just me being selfish. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I know what’s on your mind. Just stay away from the cameras.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I will.”
“But even if your picture hits the paper, it won’t matter.” Lauren used her most rational, reassuring voice. “Really, it’s not like the population of Houston is going to care a whit about a little auction in Dogwood.”
Emily signed off and closed her phone. She didn’t care about the population of Houston. If her picture made the paper, and the paper posted it on their website, she could be found. Wade could find her. Easily. And if his
parole was granted, he could come after her.
“What’s wrong?” Scott massaged her shoulder.
For a moment, she drew comfort from the warmth of his hand and then pulled back onto the highway. As she drove, she told him Lauren’s news.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s rough. When is she leaving?”
“I forgot to ask, but I assume tonight or first thing in the morning.”
“Good thing you two have everything ready for the auction.” He studied her. “You do have it ready, right? Anything you need me to do?”
“I can handle what we need to do now, but I may need you during the event.” She’d need him to come between her and anyone with a camera. Only a week spanned between the day of Wade’s parole hearing and the auction—an entire week for him to find her if he had a mind to. She had to stay out of the limelight until then.
What was she thinking? She had to stay out of the limelight period. He could come after her at any time once he was released. Never again would she volunteer to work on a charity event, or anything else that could land her picture in the paper or bring attention to herself.
She shuddered. Maybe she was being silly. A ninny. Other than at the trial, when he’d stared so hatefully at her as she testified, he’d never given her reason to believe he’d get revenge on her. He’d never tried to contact her during her last few months in Houston while she sold her business. No letters, no phone calls. No attempts at all.
Yes, maybe she was being silly.
Still...“You can be there, right? You can help?”
“Count on it.”
****
Once they’d parked in Scott’s graveled drive, he reached over and cupped her neck, running his thumb along the tender spot behind her ear. The porch light highlighted her hair and invited him to run his fingers through silky tresses.
The Cat Lady's Secret Page 14
