She found him in the kitchen, yanking up floorboards from along the wall where her sink and appliances once stood. The cabinets had been ripped out. Now raw wood stood in stark contrast to the ancient wallpaper above the counter line.
Roger grunted against stubborn nails until he finally yanked up another board. He caught sight of her and sat back on his heels.
“You’d’ve been much better off if that arsonist had tried to set fire to the kitchen—and succeeded. See that?” He touched one of the discarded planks; it crumbled on contact. “Rotten.”
Emily tsked and shook her head. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“No, neither was I.” He laid his hammer down and stood to stretch his back. “And I hate to say it, but this adds to the renovation cost.”
“How much?”
He told her, and she winced. Now the cost for the entire project swelled way over budget—and they’d just begun. No telling what he’d find in the bathrooms or upstairs. The next payment from the sale of Deck the Walls wasn’t due for a few more months. With the mortgages on the cat refuge and the Victorian, along with the payments on the furniture she’d found in Jefferson and all her other expenses, she couldn’t afford hefty increases to Roger’s estimate.
“You may have to stop the job after this until I get another cash infusion.”
“Let’s wait and see.” He draped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not unusual to encounter these little surprises. You paid us a third up front. We’re good for now.”
Roger’s assurances lifted her spirits a little.
“I hope so.”
“We are. I have to get back to work.” He guided her from the room. “Have you decided what colors you want in here? What appliances?”
“Not yet, but I’ll know by the time you’re done.” Rummaging through her mind for decorating schemes always uplifted her, and within the moments it took to return to the parlor, she was humming to herself.
Hours later, Roger poked his head in. “You need to call Scott.”
She grinned. “My pleasure. Any particular reason?”
He entered, ran a hand along the freshly sanded drywall, and gave a nod of approval. “I just got a call from Gary over at Fleetwood Marine. He’s going to donate an aluminum bass boat for the auction. Some of this stuff we’re getting is too big to keep at the house. We need a storage unit, and we’ll need Scott and his truck to help us move the stuff over there.”
Emily looked at the dust powdering her arms, her shirt, and undoubtedly, her hair. “I’ll handle it, but I have to shower and change first.”
“Get cleaned up so you can get dirty again?” With a smile, Roger looked at his watch. “It’s four thirty now. Scott closes the clinic at five. What do you say we meet at my place around six?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He nodded and left the room while she brushed dust from her hands before searching her purse for her cell phone and punching in Scott’s number.
****
At the storage facility, Emily appraised the contents of the mid-sized unit. She’d caught the facility manager moments before he closed the office for the day, signed the lease, and obtained the key. Now, at eight, the unit was over half-full with boxes of small items, the boat, and a new golf cart, a last-minute contribution from the local pro golf shop.
“Can you believe the generosity of the folks in this town?”
“You sound surprised. I’ve always thought Dogwood had some pretty special people in it.” Scott wrapped his arm around her waist. “And you’re pretty special for spearheading this auction.”
Emily’s cheeks warmed. She had given up the pretense that the auction was Lauren’s brainchild, but she still felt uncomfortable taking the credit.
Roger’s cell phone rang. He whipped it from its holster on his belt and flipped it open. “Hey, babe, perfect timing.” He eyed Emily and Scott. “The two lovebirds are getting mushy.” Emily swatted at him, but he jumped from her reach. With a wink and a wave, he headed for his truck with the phone at his ear. “How’s your sister?”
Emily watched him leave. “Have those two ever been apart?”
“Sure,” Scott said. “But not for long. This extended separation will be difficult for them. Those two are proof of God’s marriage mystery: the two shall become one flesh. They even breathe in unison.” He smiled, a little wistfully, she thought. “Maybe people will be saying the same about us someday.”
Her breath lodged in her throat as he lowered his lips to hers. Even as his mouth explored her own, one thought ricocheted through her brain: He’s going to propose! She held him tighter, trying to show him how quickly she’d say yes once he uttered the words. But when he pulled away, he offered only a soft smile. “I guess we’d better get that storage unit locked up.”
She swallowed her disappointment and brought out the key. Oh, well. Standing on a concrete parking lot surrounded by ugly metal buildings wasn’t the most romantic place to propose marriage. When the time came, she wanted to be in a far more memorable place, like Zabaglione’s with its dripping candles and soft Italian music.
He drove her home with his fingers locked around hers and his mind somewhere beyond her reach. She studied his profile from the corner of her eye, uncertain whether to interrupt his thoughts. If he was trying out different ways to propose, she definitely didn’t want to interrupt him, but what if he was trying to back out of his comment?
Maybe people will be saying the same about us someday.
The words still hung in the air between them. Was he sorry he said them?
His silence continued as he escorted her up the walk, and with every step toward her front door, the timer on her heart ticked down to zero. If he didn’t say something soon, she’d explode.
At the door, he cleared his throat, and her pulse skyrocketed.
“Well, goodnight.” He gave her a light kiss, a brotherly kiss, and then turned to go—and her heart crashed to the cement at her feet.
Burning tears came, and it was a draw whether they or her mounting frustration caused her to fumble her keys. Frustration, humiliation, disappointment—she didn’t know which to pick as the apt description of what she felt. Heat scorched her face as she finally clasped the right key and jammed it into the lock.
“Emily?”
She stilled her shaky hands but didn’t look back. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
His words made her turn. “What?”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he bowed his head slightly and peered at her from beneath his brow. A shy smile tilted his lips. “I love you.”
****
In a flash, the distance between them disappeared, and they were in each other’s embrace.
With her arms wrapped around his neck, and her joyful tears dampening his cheek, Scott tightened his hold and told her again. “I love you!”
How many times those words had been on the tip of his tongue, and he hadn’t been able to say them. Wasted time. The swelling of his heart threatened to overtake him, suffocate him, if he couldn’t say them again—shout them for the entire neighborhood to hear—but Emily’s lips found his own and claimed them with a fury and passion he eagerly returned.
Every luscious curve of her body pressed against his, and it took all the strength he could muster not to explore its mysteries right there in the soft glow of the street light. His head reeled with intoxication as he fought his desire to sweep her up and carry her inside.
When finally they broke apart, he rested his forehead on hers and whispered the words again. This time, she said them too, and his heart threatened to burst.
“I thought you’d never say it,” Emily said. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear that from you.”
“I was taking it slow.” He smoothed her hair from her forehead. “It took forever for you to go out with me. I didn’t want to rush you.”
“Thank you for not giving up. Your patience and tenacity are among the reasons I love you.”
She kissed him again, a slow, lingering kiss that made his head spin above the clouds.
Rowdy teenagers packed tightly in a rusty sports car drove by, whistling and catcalling at Scott and Emily as they passed.
Scott wrapped her in the security of his arm and escorted her back to the door. “I’ll be so glad when you can move from this apartment. It doesn’t seem safe here.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Occasionally I can hear the kids getting a little crazy as they drag down Main Street, but it’s usually quiet.” She fingered her keys but made no move to unlock her door. “It’ll be awhile before I can move into the house, anyway. Roger found some rotten floorboards in the kitchen and had to rip everything out to replace them.”
“Ouch. That’ll set him back some. Any idea on the new target date?”
“Several weeks beyond his original estimate. That doesn’t mean I have to wait until then to move in, but I’d like him to finish with the kitchen and at least one bathroom before I do. And I’d like to have the place rewired. It’s fine now, I guess. But before I go spending the night, I want that worry eliminated.”
Scott wrapped his hand around hers, keys and all. “I’m looking forward to waving to you on the balcony.” He kissed her goodnight.
Soon, she’d be sleeping right up the road from him. The thought was too exciting to safely ponder for long.
29
The next morning, Emily sat up in bed and arched her back in a luxurious stretch, arms out, mouth wide in a yawn. Considering how little sleep she got last night, she felt amazingly rejuvenated. She clasped her knees to her chest.
He loved her! He’d finally said it.
Joyous warmth spread through her, leaving her energized and anxious for their date this evening. He didn’t tell her where they were going, but the wish in her heart was for Zabaglione’s. A little pasta, a little wine, a little diamond of maybe a carat or so...
Thinking about it wouldn’t make the day go by faster. She jumped from the bed and headed for the shower. She needed to go to Parker’s and check on a claim for the windows that were shattered the other night. Guilt for filing against her insurance so soon had almost prevented her from doing it, but with the expense involved with the rotten kitchen floor, she couldn’t afford to replace those windows with anything similar to the originals without the insurance. Choking out the deductible would be hard enough.
Next, she needed to make a trip to Chapman’s and browse their kitchen center. While she was there, she could look through the outdoor paint samples and determine the color scheme for—
She frowned at a thought niggling her mind.
The gray hooded figure she’d seen had seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t be sure and would have to go to Chapman’s to find out.
There was only one way she could go without being recognized.
She showered, dressed, and, by ten o’clock, headed out the door.
****
At a quarter after twelve, Scott turned on Emily’s street. She wasn’t expecting a lunch date, but after last night, the thought of waiting until this evening to see her again was just too much to bear. Her favorite meatball sub sandwich steamed in the paper bag next to his club sub and a couple bags of potato chips. As he neared her apartment, he caught sight of a little old lady hobbling through the front door.
Millie.
He hadn’t seen her around in weeks, and while her presence blew the idea of being alone with Emily, he was happy to see that his favorite cat catcher had been out and about.
He went to the door, tapped lightly, then let himself into the cat sanctuary where he caught sight of Emily’s chestnut tresses as she headed up the stairs to her apartment.
“Hey, Em!” He glanced around, but saw no sign of Millie. “Didn’t I just see—”
Emily slowly turned toward him. “Uh, hi Scott. I wasn’t expecting you.”
She stood midway up the stairs, holding what looked to be a wig in her left hand and a hair net in her right. Her eyes were downcast, but he was able to study her face. It was lined, and crinkled, and aged...like Millie’s.
“You’re Millie?” He shook his head and then laughed. “You’re Millie? I should’ve known!”
“No way you could have known.” As if wounded he’d even suggest it, she tilted her head with a haughty expression. “I’ve been very careful. Until today, anyway.”
“I’ve always wondered why I never seem to catch the two of you together. Now I know.”
As she came down, he couldn’t stop staring at that dark hair framing an ancient face. The contrast was astounding and illustrated a skill professional makeup artists would envy.
He emitted a low whistle. “Great job. As close as I was to Millie in the truck the day the journalists were after her, I knew something was a bit...off, but I never thought of this. What causes the limp?”
Emily rested a hand on his shoulder for support, slipped a small, smooth pebble from her shoe, and held it for him to see before sliding it into her pocket with a grin. “Can’t afford to lose it. It took forever for me to find one I could tolerate but would still give the right effect.”
Scott laughed and shook his head. “So, why the Millie persona?”
She shrugged. A sheepish grin curled her lips. “Millie can do things I can’t, go places unnoticed, overhear things. Catch cats without people thinking anything of it.”
He chuckled. “That’s the truth. She’s known for being a bit eccentric. But what made you think of inventing her to save cats in the first place?”
“It’s complicated, and it’s not just about cats. I like to help people. While she hunts cats, Millie finds people with problems and ‘tells’ me.”
Emily searched his face as if in hope he’d understand. He didn’t, but this was the first tidbit she’d ever shared about her private life. He tried to appear sympathetic as she continued, but she must’ve noticed his confusion.
She blew a wisp of hair from her cheek with a huff. “It’s like this—you remember when I first came to you with that kitten?”
How could he forget? He nodded.
“It was one of three I found on the road to Dogwood when I was moving back from Houston. The only one alive. They’d all been hit by a car as if the idiot driver had aimed at them.” Her lips tightened a moment before she resumed her story. “While I was staying at the hotel—while I was looking for a place to live here—I saw two more cats get killed. One time, I saw a kitty barely miss getting hit. He darted to the bushes just outside my room, and I tried to coax him out.”
“Were you successful?”
“Well, yes—but when I came out of the bushes with him, some kid said, ‘Look, Mom! A cat lady!’ and I realized I was quite a sight. I had been in the process of changing clothes and got distracted, I don’t remember how, but I was wearing a pair of orange capris and a red suit blouse that clashed horribly.”
“That explains her sense of fashion.” Scott pictured the scene and couldn’t help chuckling. “But why did you go into this cat-catching business full time? And what does it have to do with helping people?”
“I let the boy play with the kitten and got to talking with his mother. She opened up to me and told me personal things I doubt she would’ve told me as...well, as me, and not as an eccentric cat lady. I was able to help her and still protect my anonymity—”
The door flung open behind them, and Paul Goodrich burst in. His scrutiny absorbed the scene in an instant—the wig, the makeup, Millie’s polyester pants. He grinned.
“Nice to finally meet you, Millie. Or should I call you ‘Emily’? Or maybe—” his smile broadened— “I should say Mrs. Wade Coulter.”
30
Under her old-lady makeup, Emily’s face turned ashen. She fled up the stairs and slammed the door to her apartment.
Scott’s brain, unable to process what he’d just heard, simply went blank. His feet remained rooted in place, and he presented himself as a fine rubbing post for Daisy, who curled around one leg and then the
other and purred with a volume easily heard in the silence.
“What just happened?” He turned to address Paul. “What was that all about?”
Paul cleared his throat. “Sorry, man. I hate to be the one to break it to you.”
“You’d better fill me in on what’s going on. What is it you just broke to me?”
“That’s it. She’s married to Wade Coulter, a con man the Texas Rangers finally caught and put behind bars a couple of years ago. I don’t have all the facts yet, but it looks like our little charity auction coordinator may have been a partner in his scams.” He blew out a breath. “Again, I’m sorry. I know you’re fond of her, but maybe it’s best you steer clear.”
“Maybe it’s best you get your facts straight before you go smearing her name.” Scott snarled. “I may not know what’s going on, but I know Emily’s not capable of conning anyone.”
“You didn’t know before today that she was Millie, did you? Didn’t know she was married?” Paul placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Doesn’t that mean she conned you?”
Scott couldn’t say anything, couldn’t meet the man’s eyes.
After a moment, Paul gave his shoulder a squeeze and turned to go.
Scott stopped him. “Give her a little time to explain. I’m sure she can. Surely she has an explanation.”
With his hand on the door, Paul said, “I won’t run with the story until I’ve verified the facts. I don’t work that way.” He looked over his shoulder at Scott. “For your sake, I hope I’m wrong.” He left.
Scott rubbed his forehead. All this was related to Houston somehow, but Emily had given him no clues to help him piece together the puzzle. Nothing that could help him understand.
Still, until he had all the facts, he wasn’t about to jump to the same conclusions Paul had. The journalist was confused, had the wrong woman. No way had Emily Taylor ever been married, much less been involved in a felony.
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