by Lori Foster
Honey kissed Emma on the forehead before she and Sawyer went down the hall, leaving her alone with Casey so he could say good-night. Emma was amazed anew that they'd trust her enough to leave Casey in the room with her, especially now that they had firsthand evidence of her character. She was a liar and a user.
Then she realized it wasn't a matter of trusting her. They trusted Casey, and with good reason.
Casey sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her. After a moment, he even smiled.
Emma remembered how many times she'd done her best to get Casey this close. That last time at his family's picnic, she'd almost succeeded. But in the end, Casey had been too strong-willed, and too moral to get involved with her. She'd decided that night to leave him alone, and for the most part she'd stuck to that conviction. She hadn't seen him in so long.
Now he was right next to her and she was in his bed, and she could see the awful pity in his gaze. That hurt so much, she almost couldn't bear it. She'd make sure this was the last time he ever looked at her that way.
"Are you all right now, Em?"
"I'm fine," she lied, confident that it would be true soon enough. "I just wish I hadn't put your family through all this." She wished she could have thought of another way.
Rather than reply to that, Casey smoothed his hand over her head. "I've never seen your hair in a ponytail."
Her heart started thumping too hard and her breath caught. She stared down at her hands. "That's because it looks dumb, but I figured I looked bad enough tonight that nothing could make it worse."
As if she hadn't intruded in the middle of the night, hadn't dragged him into her problems, hadn't disrupted his life, Casey chuckled. "It does not look dumb. Actually it looks kinda cute." Then, startling her further, he leaned forward and brushed his mouth over her forehead. "I'll be right out on the couch if you need anything, or if you just want to talk."
Emma said nothing to that.
"Promise me, Em." His expression was stern, with that iron determination that awed her so much in evidence. "If you need me, you'll wake me, okay?"
"Yeah, sure." Not in a million years.
Looking unconvinced, Casey straightened. "All right. I know it's not easy, but try not to fret, okay? I'm sure we'll be able to figure everything out."
We. This family kept saying that, as if they each really wanted to help. She'd made herself his problem by using his name, but by tomorrow he wouldn't have to worry about her ever again. "Casey? Thank you for everything."
"I haven't done anything, Em."
She lifted his large, warm hand and kissed his palm. Her heart swelled with love, threatening to break. "You're the finest person I've ever met."
THE RED HAZE OF DAWN streamed through the windows when Honey shook Casey awake early the next morning. He pushed himself up on one elbow and tried to clear away the cobwebs. He'd been in the middle of a dark, intensely erotic dream. About Emma.
His father stood behind Honey and right away Casey knew something was wrong. "What is it?"
"Emma is better than me," Honey said.
Casey frowned at that. "How so?"
"None of us heard her when she left."
Sawyer looked grim. "There's a note on your bed."
Casey threw the sheet aside and bolted upright. He wore only his boxers, but didn't give a damn. His heart threatened to punch out of his chest as he ran to his bedroom. Worry filled him, but also a strange panic.
She couldn't really be gone.
He came to a halt in the middle of his room. The covers had been neatly smoothed over the empty bed, and on the pillow lay a single sheet of paper, folded in half.
Dreading what he would read, Casey dropped onto the mattress and picked up the note. Honey and Sawyer crowded into the doorway, watching, waiting.
Dear Casey,
I know you told me not to say it, but I'm so sorry. For everything. Not just for barging into your life tonight but for trying to corrupt you and trying to interrupt your plans. It was so selfish of me. For a while there, I thought I wanted you more than anything.
Here she had drawn a small smiley face. It nearly choked Casey up, seeing her attempt at humor. He swallowed and firmed his resolve.
But that would have been really unfair to you. I'm also sorry that I took the money you had on your dresser.
Casey glanced at his dresser. Hell, he'd forgotten all about the money, which, if he remembered right, amounted to about a hundred dollars. Not enough for her to get very far. Emotion swamped him, then tightened like a vise around his chest, making it hard to breathe.
I had some money of my own, too. I've been saving it up for a long time. I promise as soon as I get settled I'll return your money to you. I just needed it to get me away from Buckhorn, and I figured better that I borrow your money and leave tonight than to continue hanging around being a burden.
Damn it, hadn't he told her a dozen times she wasn't a bother? No. He'd told her not to apologize, but he hadn't told her that he wanted her there, that he wanted to help. That he cared about her.
Have a good life, Casey. I'll never, ever forget you.
Love, Emma Clark
Casey crumpled the letter in his fist. He wanted to punch something, someone. He wanted to rage. It felt as though his chest had just caved in, destroying his heart. For a long moment, he couldn't speak, couldn't get words out around the lump in his throat.
Sawyer sat down beside him with a sigh. "I'll call Morgan and see if he can track her down."
As the town sheriff, Morgan had connections and legal avenues that the others didn't have. Casey looked at his father, struggling for control. "We don't know for sure where she's going."
"To Ohio, to her cousin, she told us," Honey reminded them.
"She never gave us her cousin's name."
"I'll call Dell." Sawyer clapped Casey on the shoulder, offering reassurance. "He'll know."
But half an hour later, after Sawyer had finished his conversation with Emma's surprisingly rattled father, Casey's worst suspicions were confirmed. Emma didn't have a cousin in Ohio. As far as Dell knew, there was no one in Ohio, no relative, no friend. Dell spewed accusations, blaming Casey for his little girl's problems, for her pregnancy, even going so far as to insist he should be compensated for his loss. He said his wife was sick and now his daughter was missing.
Casey suffered a vague sense of relief that Emma had gotten away from her unfeeling father. If only he knew where she'd gone.
If only he knew how to get her back.
Neither he nor Sawyer bothered to explain the full situation to Dell Clark. If Emma had wanted him to know, she would have told him herself. Eventually Dell would know there had never been a baby, that Emma had only used that as an excuse to be thrown out – to escape.
But from what?
Casey hoped she hadn't gone far, that it wouldn't take too long to find her. Damn it, he wanted to take care of her, dumb as that seemed.
But hours after Sawyer put in the request to Morgan, he came outside to give Casey the bad news.
Casey had been standing by a fence post, staring out at the endless stretch of wildflowers in the meadow. He'd bored the horses with his melancholy and they'd wandered away to munch grass elsewhere. The sun was hot, the grass sweet smelling and the sky so blue it could blind you. Casey barely noticed any of it.
"Case?"
At his father's voice, Casey jerked around. One look at Sawyer's expression and fear grabbed him. "What is it?"
Sawyer quickly shook his head. "Nothing's happened to Emma. But Morgan checked with highway patrol... They haven't seen her. There have been no reports of anyone fitting her description. It's like she vanished. I'm sorry, Case."
Casey clenched his hands into fists, and repeated aloud the words that had been echoing in his head all morning. "She'll turn up."
"I hope so, but ... something else happened last night." Sawyer propped his hands on his hips and his expression hardened. "Late last night, Ceily's diner caught fire."
&nb
sp; Slowly, Casey sank back against the rough wooden post. "Ceily...?"
"She wasn't even there. It was way after hours, during a break-in, apparently." Sawyer hesitated. "Morgan's investigating the fire for arson."
"Arson? But that means..."
"Yeah. Someone might have tried to burn her down."
On top of his worry for Emma, it was almost too much to take in. Ceily was a friend to all of them. Everyone in town adored her, and the diner was practically a landmark.
"It's damn strange," Sawyer continued, "but the fire was reported with an anonymous call. Morgan doesn't know who, but when he got on the scene the fire was already out of control. Structurally, the diner is okay, but the inside is pretty much gutted. Whatever isn't burned has smoke damage."
Casey felt numb. Things like arson just didn't happen in Buckhorn.
Of course, girls didn't accuse him of fathering a nonexistent baby very often either. "Morgan's okay?"
"He's raspy from smoke inhalation, but he'll be all right. Ceily's stunned. I told her we'd all help, but it's still going to take a while before she'll be able to get the place all repaired and opened again."
Barefoot, her long blond hair lifted by the breeze, Honey sidled up next to Sawyer. Automatically his father put his arm around her, kissed her temple and murmured, "I just told him."
Honey nodded. "I'm so sorry, Casey. Morgan has his hands full with the investigation now."
"Meaning he doesn't want to waste time looking for Emma?"
Honey didn't take offense at his tone. "You know that's not it." She reached out to touch his shoulder. "He's done what he can, but considering the note she left, there's no reason to consider any foul play."
Sawyer rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. "I know how you feel, Case. I'm not crazy about her being off on her own either. Hell, I've never seen such an emotionally fragile young woman. But Dell doesn't want to file her as a missing minor, so there's nothing more that Morgan can do. She'll come back when she's good and ready, and in the meantime, all we can do is wait."
Honey patted Casey again. "Maybe she'll contact you. Like Sawyer said, we'll wait – and hope."
When Casey turned back to the meadow, both Sawyer and Honey retreated, leaving him alone with his worries. Yes, he thought, she'll contact me. She had to. They shared a special bond, not sexual, yet...still special.
He felt it. So surely she felt it too.
THE DAYS TICKED BY without word from Emma.
The fire at the diner had stolen all the news, and Emma's disappearance was pretty much skipped by most people. After all, she hadn't made any lasting friendships in the area. The boys had used her, the girls had envied her, and the schools had all but given up on her. Not many people missed her now.
In the next few weeks, the town gradually settled back down to normal, but an edgy nervousness remained because whoever had broken into Ceily's diner and started a fire was never found. Casey went through his days by rote, hurt, angry with himself as much as with Emma.
Three months later, he got a fat envelope filled with the money Emma had taken, and a few dollars more. In her brief note, Emma explained that the extra was for interest. There was no return address and she'd signed the note: Thanks so much for everything. Emma Clark.
Frustrated, Casey wondered if she always signed her first and last name because she thought he might forget her, just as the rest of the town had.
At least the return of the money proved she was alive and well. Casey tried to tell himself it was enough, that he'd only wanted her safe, that all he'd ever felt for her was sympathy with a little healthy lust thrown in.
But he'd be a complete fraud if he let himself believe it. The truth burned like acid, because nothing had ever hurt as much as knowing Emma had deliberately walked away from him.
He didn't ever want to hurt like that again.
Since she didn't want to return, didn't want to trust him, didn't want him, he couldn't help her. But he could get on with his life.
With nothing else to do, he went off to school as planned. And though he knew it hadn't been Emma's intention, she'd changed his life forever. He wanted her back, damn it, when he'd made a point of never having her in the first place.
Forget her? There wasn't a chance in hell that would ever happen.
CHAPTER TWO
Eight Years Later
THOUGH SHE COULDN'T SEE beyond the raised hood, she heard the very distant rumble of the approaching car and gave a sigh of relief. Damon, who had been about to set a flare on the narrow gravel road, walked back to her with the flare unlit. He stuck his head in the driver's-door window. "I'm going to flag this guy down and maybe he'll give us a hand."
Emma smiled at him. "The way this day is going? We'll be lucky if he doesn't speed on by and blow dust in our faces."
B.B. hung his head over her seat and nuzzled her ear. His doggy breath was hot and impatient. Likely, he wanted out of the car worse than she did. The winding gravel roads opened on both sides to endless stretches of overgrown brush that shielded anything from rabbits to snakes. B.B. heeded her call, so she wasn't really worried about him wandering off. But she also didn't want to take the chance that he'd get distracted with a critter on unfamiliar ground.
The day had already been endless with one hitch after another. What should have been a six- or seven-hour drive from Chicago to Buckhorn, had turned into eight and a half, and they hadn't even had a chance to stop for a sit-down meal. Even with the occasional breaks they'd taken and her quick stopover at the hospital, they were all beat. The dog wasn't used to being confined for so long, and neither was she.
Damon patted her hand. "Stay put until I see who it is. This late on a Saturday night, and in a strange town, I don't want to take any chances with you."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Damon, I grew up here, remember? This isn't a strange place. It's Buckhorn and believe me, it's so safe it borders on boring."
"You haven't been here in eight long years, doll. Time changes everything."
She scoffed at that ridiculous notion. "Not Buckhorn. Trust me."
In fact, Emma had been amazed at how little it had changed in the time she'd been away. On their way to the one and only motel Buckhorn had to offer, they'd driven through the town proper. Everything looked the same: pristine, friendly, old-fashioned.
The streets were swept clean, the sidewalks uncluttered. There were two small grocery stores at opposite ends of town, each with varying specialties. The same clothing store that had been there for over a hundred years still stood, but painted a new, brighter color. The hairdresser's building had new landscaping; the pharmacy had a new lighted sign.
Lit by stately lampposts, Emma had gazed down a narrow side street at the sheriff's station, situated across the street from a field of cows. Once a farmhouse, the ornate structure still boasted a wraparound porch, white columns in the front, and black shutters. Emma wondered if Morgan Hudson still reigned supreme. He'd be in his mid-forties by now, but Emma would be willing to bet he remained as large, strong and imposing as ever. Morgan wasn't the type of man ever to let himself go soft.
She also saw Gabe Kasper's handyman shop, now expanded into two buildings and looking very sophisticated. Apparently business was good for Gabe, not that she'd ever had any doubts. Women around Buckhorn broke things on purpose just to get Gabe to do repairs.
Then she'd seen Ceily's diner.
Her stomach knotted at the sight of the familiar building, quiet and closed down for the night but with new security lights on the outside. Everyone in town loved that quaint old diner, making it a favorite hangout.
Her heart gave a poignant twinge at the remembrance of it all.
"For once," Damon said with dramatic frustration, drawing her away from the memories, "will you just do as I say without arguing me into the ground?"
B.B. barked in agreement.
"You guys always gang up on me," Emma accused, then waved Damon off. "Your caution is unnecessary, but if it'll make you
feel better, I'll just sit here like a good little helpless woman. Maybe I'll even twiddle my thumbs."
"Your sarcasm is showing, doll." He glanced at the dog. "B.B., see that she stays put."
The dog hung his head over her shoulder, mournful at the enormity of the task.
The approaching car finally maneuvered through all the twists and turns of the stretching road, and drew near. Arms raised, Damon rounded the hood to signal for assistance. It must be a nice vehicle, Emma thought, hearing the nearly melodic purr of the powerful engine. She'd learned a lot about cars while living with the Devaughns.
Unfortunately, she hadn't learned enough to be able to change a water pump without a spare pump on hand.
At first, because of the angle of the road, the swerving headlights slanted partially in through her window, blinding her. When the car stopped right in front of them, the open hood of her Mustang kept her from being able to see the occupants. In a town the size of Buckhorn, the odds weren't too bad that she might recognize their rescuers. Though few people had really befriended her, she'd grown up with them and could still recall many of them clearly.
Beside her, B.B.'s head lifted and he rumbled a low warning growl at the strangers. Emma reached over her shoulder to put her hand on his scruff, calming him, letting him know that everything was okay.
The purring engine turned off, leaving only the night sounds of insects. "Well, hello."
With amusement in his tone, Damon replied, "Good evening."
Emma couldn't see, but she could hear just fine, and the feminine voice responding to Damon was definitely flirtatious. She sighed.
Sometimes Emma thought he was too good-looking for his own good. He wasn't overly tall, maybe an inch shy of six feet, but he had a lean, athletic build and warm, clear blue eyes and the most engaging grin she'd ever witnessed on a grown man. Everywhere he went, women turned their heads to watch him.
"Can we give you a lift?"
"Actually," Damon's deep voice rumbled, "I'd just like to make a call to Triple A. Do you have a cell phone with you? My battery went dead an hour ago."
