A lump formed in his throat. Familiar shyness washed over him and sent any semblance of confidence swirling down the drain. “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”
“Won’t know if you don’t try.” She grinned as she threw his own frequently used words back at him.
40
With everyone she knew safely tucked away at the auction, Emily set to work on the crown molding in her parlor. Working off her anxieties on top of the ladder seemed superior to glooming around her apartment and crying into her cats’ fur.
A fan blew the chemical odor of tung oil out the only two windows that weren’t boarded up from the vandalism. Another fan was angled up to blow on her as she worked. Even in September, the temperature hovered close to ninety, and the temptation to set up the window unit air conditioner she’d bought in Tyler lost to the need to work in a ventilated area.
She’d parked her car in the back near the garage just in case anyone came looking for her—“anyone” being Scott. Since the Queen Anne sat on Scott’s route to just about anywhere he’d want to go, Emily had reached a decision: She’d flip it. She’d refurbish it and put it up for sale and continue to live in the apartment until she found another house less likely to be on his path.
By the time she finally turned the corner in the room and took on the home stretch, sweat from climbing up and down the ladder glued her clothes to her.
She could cover the oil drops along the drywall with the wallpaper she’d designed and then sand the paper glue off the paneling before applying the tung oil to it. Once the walls were done, she’d refinish the floors, put up the new drapes, and rent a truck to haul the furniture back from Jefferson. A few pictures and doo-dads, and she’d be done. One room down, a half-dozen more to go.
A couple of years could pass before she would be finished with the house—especially since she would have to wait for funds. Right now, even her charity account was zooming toward a zero balance. If she wasn’t more careful, she’d be joining the cats for surf-and-turf in a can.
Her phone sang, and she stepped off the ladder to read the caller ID. Scott. With a sigh, she dropped the cell back in her purse. Whatever he called for, she was no longer interested. Seeing him buddying up to Goodrich had told her all she needed to know about whose side he chose after reading her file. If he read it.
She prayed God would give her the strength to let him go. Then she prayed he’d allow a comfortable friendship between her and Scott someday. She wasn’t willing to give up her friendship with Lauren, and having an easy relationship with him would prevent any awkwardness whenever they were together.
In her head, she had it all figured out. But her heart implored God with far different prayers.
****
Scott snapped his phone shut and shook his head at Lauren. She turned to Karen, who was pouring another round of mimosas. “Are you sure she didn’t tell you where she was going?”
Karen filled the last glass and wiped the lip of the pitcher with a towel. “No. She didn’t give me a clue. One minute she’s watching out the swinging doors, and the next she’s heading out the back. I thought you had upset her.”
“Not that I know of.” Scott walked to the service doors and looked out the small square of glass. In the auditorium, crowds browsed the display tables, registered for the auction, or fanned themselves with their bidding placards. He squinted at the third set of entry doors where he had been standing when Lauren joined them from the kitchen—where he had stood with Paul Goodrich, Emily’s imagined arch-enemy. Once a couple sipping from champagne flutes strolled past, he had a clear view of the corner.
Just as Emily undoubtedly had earlier.
He winced. “I think I know what happened.”
At Lauren’s quizzical look, he explained.
She propped her fists on her hips. “All right, this has gone on long enough. You two need to start communicating. I can’t have my two best friends at odds like this. Fix it. And bring her back here.” She shoved open the door and marched out of the kitchen.
Lauren’s unusual shot of temper left Scott slack-jawed, but he quickly recovered. His mind slammed into gear and developed a plan. A glance at his watch let him know he had a couple of hours before the bidding began. Would it be enough time?
41
“God, why did you waste all those extra arms on octupusses?” Octopi? Octopies?
Emily didn’t know for sure what the correct plural was, but that didn’t change the sentiment. Regardless of how many times she’d hung wallpaper in the past, she always wished for more hands. She smoothed out the corner panel, tucked it up to the crown molding with a trowel, and sliced off the excess. She stepped down from the ladder to admire her handiwork. She had only one wall left—the one holding the most windows, which was the very reason she’d saved it for last. Papering between window frames was tedious work.
She moved the ladder and then climbed to measure the space between the first window frame and the crown molding. As she stretched with her tape measure, someone pounded on the front door. She groaned and debated answering. It was probably nothing. A salesman or something. No one knew she was there. She continued with her measurement, but the knocking became more persistent.
Finally, she climbed down just far enough to peek out. A gray haired man raised his fist to knock again. For an old man, he sure could hammer the wood. Whatever he wanted, he probably wouldn’t be there long. She’d shoo him away as politely as possible and get back to work.
But he didn’t shoo easily. The man barged in and gave her a long, appraising look from under a furry brow. “You ain’t Millie.”
“No, I—”
“I was told I could find her here. Where is she?”
He looked for all the world like Mark Twain, sans cigar. Wild, white-gray hair; thick mustache; a wiry unibrow stretched under a crinkled forehead. His stooped shoulders jerked with every step as if trying to yank his legs up with them so he could walk.
“Mister, Millie isn’t—”
“Millie!” He hitched his way up the stairs, one step at a time. “Millie! Where are ya, girl?”
Emily flipped her hands in dismay. What was she to do with the old man? She followed him up the stairs. “Really, mister, Millie isn’t here. She doesn’t live here.”
He whirled on her. “What? Where is she?” He hobbled back to peer at her. Thick brows quirked, his mustache twitched. “What have you done with Millie?”
“Nothing. She doesn’t live here. She never has.”
“Bah.” He looked around, making a smacking sound as he did. He poked his head into each vacant room. “Millie? You in here, darlin’? Don’t go hidin’ from ol’ Jake now, honey. Millie?”
Emily stood on the landing and watched him, feeling she’d slid headfirst down the rabbit hole. Even as Millie, she’d never seen the man. Was he a client at the food bank? She couldn’t remember, but even if he was, he wouldn’t know Millie.
Finally, he returned. “She’s not here.” He eyed her again, head to toe, and a broad grin lifted his scruffy cheeks. “Hey, you’re a looker. What do you say, cutie? Wanna go catch the early bird special?” The old coot actually clicked his tongue at her!
“Now, look. I don’t know who you are, but—”
“Jake. Jake Falco, at your service.” He struggled into an arthritic bow and then used the banister to straighten up.
Emily caught a whiff of his cologne, and squinted at him suspiciously. “Scott?”
He chuckled. “Not very convincing, was I?”
“Are you kidding? You had me totally fooled. How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. I was on my way to your apartment when I caught a glimpse of your car out back through my rearview.”
“I was under the impression you didn’t want to see me again.” She swirled away from him and headed down the stairs. “It took a while, but I got your message loud and clear.”
He scrambled down the stairs behind her. “I just needed time to sort things out.�
�
“Well, you certainly took your time, didn’t you? Not a call, not a chance to explain, nothing.” She hit the bottom stair and continued toward the door, intent on showing him out. He needed to leave before she lost every thread of self-control she held in her tentative grasp. “Your silence told me you didn’t want to see me again. And since you never broke that silence, I had no other way to interpret it.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not what it meant.” He grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. “I’ve missed you. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Why didn’t you ever take my calls? I could’ve explained. Or why didn’t you call after I gave you all my information? Didn’t that explain everything well enough?” She scowled. “What you’re saying now doesn’t match your actions of the past couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, I know.” He lowered his head for a moment and then looked at her. “Everything I learned about you that day took me by surprise. You’d been married before. Didn’t you think that would upset me a bit?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s why I never told you. I didn’t think you could ever forgive me.”
“So you chose to lie to me instead?”
“I didn’t lie, I just—”
“You just dodged every opportunity I gave you to tell the truth. To trust me.” He rubbed his forehead, removing some of the makeup in the process. “That’s what hurt the most, Em. Did you think I wouldn’t understand?”
“How could I expect you to understand when I didn’t?” A lump in her throat choked her, making her voice sound small, tormented. “I don’t understand how I could’ve been so blind, how I could’ve missed seeing what that man was.” She stalked away from him, flinging a hand out in frustration. “And now with Paul Goodrich on the scene...I don’t know what that man has against me, or what kind of lies he’s been telling you—”
“He’s told me nothing different from what was in those articles you gave me.”
She twisted back to face him. Had she heard him right?
“Didn’t you notice Paul never published anything about it in the paper?”
“Well, yes, but I thought he was still digging, still trying to find some dirt on me.”
Scott shook his head. “Paul’s moved on. He said there was nothing else to discover.”
Emily’s jaw slackened. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you let me know? You had to have known I’d be worried over what that man said about me. He thought I was a con artist like Wade was. And it floors me that you would believe him even for a moment. I may have done some things wrong, but never like that. Never anything like that.”
Under the makeup, the wild mop of hair, and the bushy brows, Scott looked miserable. “I didn’t believe him. Not really. I was just...mad. Hurt. Not thinking right.”
Emily clamped her lips tight. She could understand how he’d felt, and the idea she’d hurt him so terribly washed her in a new wave of guilt.
A wry smile spread across Scott’s lips as he reached into his pocket. He withdrew a cashier’s check from his wallet. “What was this about? Was ‘Millie’ trying to fix things between us?”
He tried to hand her the check, but she clasped her hands behind her back. She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It was...” She didn’t know what it was. Maybe a small part of her wanted to buy his pardon, but that hadn’t been on her mind when she asked Connor to send the money. “It was just an impulse.”
“Like the impulse to pay for Spencer’s attorney fees?”
The heat in her cheeks intensified. “How did you know about that?”
“Parker told me about the mysterious check he received. It wasn’t hard to figure it out from there.” His expression softened. “You—Millie—y’all—have been helping everyone in town, haven’t you?”
She turned away from him. “How is Spencer? What’s going to happen to him?”
“It’s still too soon to tell, but from what I understand, if Spence pleads guilty, they’ll try him as a juvenile, and he won’t have to serve as much time as he would have. Afterward, they’ll send him through a rehab center.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and her heart took a joyful leap at the familiar touch. “It was nice of you to help Parker and Spencer. Spence is a good kid. He just got turned around somehow. Don’t feel guilty for turning him in. No one blames you. Parker wouldn’t blame you either, if he knew. He’s relieved his son was stopped, relieved he will get help.”
Emily nearly collapsed with her own relief. She sat on the stairs and whisked an errant tear with a shaky hand. “So it worked out?”
Scott joined her and settled his arm around her shoulders. “It worked out just fine.”
“Lauren said you’d worked with Spencer through the horses. Kind of a therapy for him.”
“Well, that’s not quite right. I’m not qualified to be a therapist. But he sure took to Scotch Bonnet. I think they would’ve healed each other given time.”
The cashier’s check was still in his hand, and she closed both of hers around his. “Use this. Open a rehab clinic for horses. Maybe the county can add to the funds, and you can extend it for juvenile rehab, too. Maybe the county can hire a therapist who’s qualified.”
“It would be worth looking into, wouldn’t it? Maybe Sheriff Bailey can steer me in the right direction to get it set up.” As he tumbled her idea through his mind, his thoughts played across his features almost legibly. Finally, he mumbled, “It could work. I bet it could work.”
“So you’ll keep the money?”
“In a trust account, until I find out whether the idea will fly. And even if it does, I’ll only use it if you’ll be my partner.”
“Me? I don’t know anything about it.”
“I don’t either.”
“You know how to work with horses. I don’t even know that much.”
“I can teach you. Besides, either you come with the deal, or there is no deal.”
She smiled, wanting very much to be his partner. She shoved out her hand. “Deal.”
The smile on his face became sensual as he leaned toward her. “I have a better way of sealing it.”
Oh, how she had missed the taste of his kiss, the security of his strong arms around her. What a magical feeling, being loved by Scott Barlow. His kisses lifted her heart far beyond the clouds and then resettled it topsy-turvy in her chest. It thumped crazily with joy, making her lightheaded and breathless. And she wanted more.
But he broke off the kiss and cuddled her instead. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” A lump in her throat pitched her voice higher, and tears threatened to stream down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She nuzzled closer.
“No more secrets?” he asked.
“No more secrets.”
Another kiss, another trip around the solar system.
“Still love me?”
“Always.” She met his eyes, which were peeking from under shaggy brows. “Even when you’re that age.”
One more kiss. “Lauren gave me strict orders to bring you back to the auction.”
She looked down at her sweat-stained work clothes. “Well, I can’t go like this.”
Scott waggled his brows. “And I’m not going like this.”
42
The auctioneer’s gavel slammed on the table. “Sold to paddle number sixty-three. Come claim your prize, little lady.”
As a young woman in a pumpkin-orange blouse excused her way up front, Scott and Emily skirted the crowd and found a vacant spot at the wall near the kitchen. Emily glanced around, excited to see the boisterous bidders, and then she tapped Scott’s arm. “I’m going to the kitchen and check on Karen.”
“Don’t be gone too long. I’ve spent enough time without you as it is.”
She smiled and gave him a peck before slipping through the kitchen door. After sending savory appetizers out during the brunch-to-lunch hours, Karen now prepared a few sweet trays for the early afternoon.
“Looks like everyone’s happy out there.” Emily eyed the puffed pastry pouches on Karen’s tray. “What’s the filling?”
“Mascarpone with a hint of amaretto.” Karen sent the tray out and then crossed her arms. “And you’re wrong. Almost everyone’s happy. Lauren’s been checking in every thirty minutes asking for you. I wish you’d told me where you were going.”
“I guess I should have. Sorry.” Emily found the bowl of mascarpone filling and started to dip her finger into it. Karen rapped a spoon on her fingers, retrieved a small bowl from the counter and scooped a bit into it.
Emily tasted the lightly sweetened, soft tart cheese with a tinge of almond flavor. Heaven. Karen knew what she was doing in the kitchen. “Is Lauren mad?”
“Not mad, I don’t think. Worried. That’s all you get. I need every bit of that for the next round.”
“Sorry.” Emily stuck her finger into her mouth and savored what little bit of filling she’d scored.
“You should be out there apologizing to her right now.” Karen shooed her away. As Emily neared the door, Karen called, “Oh, and congratulations.”
“What for?”
“You and Dr. Barlow made up, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“How did you know?”
“He and Lauren were in here earlier looking for you. I could tell by the conversation that something was up.” She gave Emily a saucy grin. “Comparing the mood you’re in now with the one you were in earlier, I’d say you two have reconciled.”
Emily shot her a wink and a smile and then pushed through the door.
When the first person she spotted on the other side was Paul Goodrich, she stopped short, almost getting smacked by the door as it swung closed. He saw her, pointed her out to Amber, and the two of them made their way toward her through a crowd of enthusiastic bidders.
She edged back. She could still slip into the kitchen and dash out the back. Scott might be friends with Paul, but Emily didn’t have a reason to trust him. He’d spent too much time stalking her for her to feel comfortable now.
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