The Wedding Dress

by Kimberly Cates

  “One of us has to go—”

  “I’ll go!” Emma cut in, backing away from the wreck. “I’ll take the car back to the castle.”

  “No! The MacMurray place is closer. But your head—are you—”

  “I can do this. Stay with him. If he wakes up he’ll need you.”

  Need you. The words pierced him. Had anyone ever needed him this way? Needed his strength, his love the way Davey and Emma did? It made him feel humble, afraid and so damned grateful. He searched her face. She was strong, his Emma, the cut on her forehead no longer bleeding, her eyes almost clear.

  “Ring up the medics.” Jared eased his body close to Davey’s in the car seat, holding the tourniquet tight. “Tell them to hurry.”

  Emma nodded, then climbed back up to the street, her feet slipping on the wet turf. She leapt into the car, wheeled it in a U-turn and headed back up the road, searching for the entrance to Snib’s farm, praying she wouldn’t be too late.

  Her mind filled with Davey’s wound, the bright red blood on the seat. Jared’s tortured face.

  This is my fault. The truth hammered in her head as she glimpsed a mailbox with S. B. MacMurray painted on it in awkward letters and wheeled down the lane. If it weren’t for me, Davey wouldn’t be lying there bleeding, maybe dying. He’d be safe. And Jared wouldn’t face the possibility of losing him….

  Jared would never forgive her, Emma thought, hopeless. And how could she blame him? She would never forgive herself.

  The dilapidated farmhouse reared up before her, Snib’s collies racing around the corner, barking as if bent on murder. Emma didn’t care. She climbed out of the car and ran to the front porch with the dogs snapping at her heels. She pounded on the peeling paint of the door with both fists.

  The door flew open. Snib was savage as his dogs. “What the devil are ye thinkin’? Runnin’ from me dogs like that! Yer lucky they didn’t tear out yer throat!”

  “Thank God you’re here!” Emma sobbed, clutching the front of the old man’s shirt. “I didn’t have to break through the window…” Snib grabbed her wrists but not to thrust her away.

  His scowl turned to alarm as he felt the stickiness of Davey’s blood on her hands, saw the dark red stains.

  “Did those beasts hurt you? By God, lass!”

  “No! There’s been an accident!”

  “Butler?”

  “One of the students. Davey Harrison. We have to call for help.”

  Snib guided her through the dim house to his kitchen and pulled out one of his mismatched chairs.

  “Sit ye down, I’ll be ringing Fergus Campbell’s lads up. They’ll be there in no time. Where’s the wreck?”

  “Just a few miles south of here. There’s a ravine. He shot off the road and…broke through the fence.”

  “By the standing stones, then,” Snib said. “They’ll see the hole where he went through.”

  She expected him to start swearing about his sheep, about his fence, about the plague of reckless drivers among the students Jared had brought to the castle.

  Instead, while telephoning in the alarm, Snib filled a dented copper kettle and set it on the Aga in the corner. By the time he was off the phone, he’d spooned tea leaves out of a tin container into a fat brown ceramic pot. He poured in the boiling water, covered it with a stained tea cozy and rummaged for a mug on one of the chock-full shelves.

  “Damned Butlers—left the whole place stuffed with crockery. Couldn’t take it with ’em to the smaller place. But at least I’ve got something fit to serve a lady.” He finally settled on a cup old enough for her aunt Finn to love, with pink and yellow carnations on it and a chip out of the rim.

  “This’ll put the heart back in yer chest,” he said, straining her a cupful of tea and adding a generous slug of whiskey from a dusty bottle on the countertop.

  Emma surprised herself, smiling at him as he pressed the cup in her hand. “Thank you,” she said, her whole body shaking. “But I have to—to go back to help. Jared—”

  “Butler will be making enough trouble all by himself for the medics up there. You’ll be nothin’ but in the way.”

  “No! He—he needs me.”

  “Sure and he will. Soon as ye’ve got yer feet back under ye, I’ll take you to the hospital. Ye’ll be waiting when they come. Drink up, now. That’s a good lassie. Every drop of it.”

  Emma started to argue, then realized he was right. She drank, the tea and whiskey scalding her throat.

  “There now.” He actually patted her shoulder. “That’s the magic brew we used when we were taking France back from the Nazis.”

  “You were a soldier?”

  “A long time ago.” His eyelids dipped down, hiding thoughts too grim, memories too bloody. Emma could see him driving back the demons, just like the Captain sometimes did.

  “Mr. Snib, before we leave…may I make a phone call? To my mother. There’s something I have to tell her.”

  “Call America?” Snib’s eyes widened in surprise. “Does yer mum know this boy somehow?”

  “No. It’s…the press. They found out something awful. I have to warn her. I’ll pay for the call.”

  “Devil you will! Ring up yer mum fer as long as ye need, but catch your breath first or ye’ll scare the poor woman to death.”

  Emma’s bottom lip wobbled in gratitude at his kindness. He gave her shoulder a hearty squeeze.

  “Ye’ll get through whatever tempest those sneakin’ papers are going to stir up. And so will yer mum. That’s what folks do when they have grit like ye,” Snib encouraged.

  “But Davey—”

  “The boy will be fine as well, if that scurvy Butler is with him. Stubborn enough to wrestle the devil himself for the lad, if he needs to.”

  Emma almost managed to smile.

  “There now, lass,” Snib encouraged. “Bottoms up. Ye’ll be back in fighting form before you can say Snib’s-your-uncle. ’Course, my magic brew is missing one vital ingredient, I’m afraid.”

  “Really?” Emma gulped the last dregs in the cup. “What’s that?”

  He smiled, a real smile, bracing and surprisingly sweet. “I’m a little short on worms this time of day.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  MACHINES WHIRRED, tubes snaking across the hospital bed where Davey lay unconscious, his arm in a white plaster cast, his bandaged face swollen and misshapen from where he’d hit the steering wheel, a neat row of stitches marching across the cut on his left cheek.

  The students had practically come to blows over who would donate the blood Davey needed so desperately. But surprisingly it was Emma and Jared who’d been the perfect match. They’d lain on the gurneys beside each other, willing their life force and love for the boy into every drop of blood the nurses drew.

  But even that hadn’t been strong enough. For three days Davey hadn’t wakened. Just lain there, so white, so helpless, so young. Until Davey regained consciousness, there was no way to tell how bad the damage would be. Whether that hungry mind of his would be as broken as his arm. Whether he’d ever recover enough to go back to school, to earn his degrees, to work at Jared’s side in the science that he loved.

  Either way, Emma resolved that Davey would never want for anything. She’d make sure he had the finest doctors in the world, whatever he needed. The best of everything. But even her promises to take care of the boy financially hadn’t driven the darkness from Jared’s eyes or the anger from Mrs. Harrison. The woman telling Emma what she already knew: that all the money in the world couldn’t undo what Emma had done. Even the famous Emma McDaniel couldn’t piece together her boy’s mind if it was shattered.

  Emma’s own family’s reaction to the press scandal had been typical McDaniel. Fury, outrage on Emma’s and her mother’s behalf, then closing ranks against the enemy. Emma’s cell had fielded supportive McDaniel phone calls at least once a day, and only fear of dragging even more vultures down on the hospital where Davey was fighting for his life had kept her family on the other side of the
ocean.

  Her mother’s reaction still broke Emma’s heart, Deirdre’s courage and love unfaltering. In some ways it’ll be a relief once this media frenzy is over. I’ve always suspected the story about the rape would come out sometime since there were witnesses when Jake smashed up Adam’s car.

  But I was the one who blabbed it, Mom, Emma had cried.

  It’s not your fault or mine, Deirdre had said fiercely. We’re the victims here, and don’t you forget it. We’ll get through this, Emmaline Kate.

  But Hope… Emma had faltered. She’s so little.

  Her mom’s voice got a little quiet, a little sad. I do wish Hope were older but you’ve taught me to have confidence in my daughters’ strength. And she’ll have the whole family to love her and help her cope. You’re the one I’m worried about. Promise you’ll come home, Emma. As soon as you can. I won’t feel right until I can hug you in person.

  Tears had streamed down Emma’s face. She’d closed her eyes, imagining her mom’s arms around her, the smell of Deirdre’s shampoo, the mother-grizzly-bear protectiveness Emma loved so much.

  Emma, I want you to listen to me right now. I love you for trying to help that poor boy. You did the right thing. This Joel Feeny and that bitch Veronica what’s-her-name did the wrong thing. I hope neither of them ever come around Jake. He’s just itching to take a baseball bat to the assholes’ cars. But he’d have to get the bat away from me first.

  Emma had hung up the phone feeling a little better, loving her family more than ever. She wished Davey and his mother had people they could depend on half as much.

  But they did. They had Jared. And they had her, even though Davey’s mother might find help from her hard to swallow.

  Emma hovered in the hospital room’s doorway, not wanting to upset the woman further as she watched the doctor update her on the boy’s progress. Saying the same thing he had said so many times before. Surgery had saved the boy’s life in the agonizingly tense hours before Mrs. Harrison had been able to reach her son’s side. Now if Davey would only wake up….

  What would it feel like to know your child had skated that close to death? Emma wondered, hugging herself tight. But that kind of love, that danger of loss was something she would never experience. Drew was right. Who would bring an innocent child into this kind of insanity? The hospital grounds swarmed with reporters and photographers staking out every possible exit route, hoping to snag Emma as she left.

  One had even managed to slip past the hospital’s security, belting out questions when Emma had gone to the vending machines to buy a can of soda.

  Is it true the Fulsom Street murderer’s son tried to kill himself again, Emma? The story surfaced because of you. How do you feel about that?

  “How do you think it feels, you bloodsucking son of a bitch?” she’d yelled back, hurling her pop can against the wall. Wishing she could pound the man, hurt him as badly as his kind had hurt her family and the boy who still lay fighting for his life. Fists knotted, she’d stalked toward the journalist, but Jared had dived between her and the goggle-eyed reporter before it was too late. Scooping her into his arms, he drove the reporter away and the guy fled. It seemed even bloodsucking sons of bitches had survival instincts.

  “Don’t listen to them,” Jared had said, keeping a tight hold around her fury-stiff shoulders as he led her back to the waiting room. “It’s not your fault.”

  But Emma knew for damned sure that no one else in the crowded, dreary room had the same opinion. A stack of weekly magazines littered the waiting room table. The lurid headlines might as well have been written in Davey’s blood. Emma McDaniel child of rape. Star bares darkest secret to Fulsom Street murderer’s son….

  Even the studio’s PR department had its hands full trying to put the right spin on the story. But Barry Robards’ edginess was the least of Emma’s worries. The effect of this disaster on the people she cared about hurt her far worse.

  The kids haunted the hospital waiting room as stubbornly as Jared and Emma did as the days slipped past. Sitting so quiet and pale in small clusters, they treated Emma almost as coldly as they had treated Veronica before the doctoral candidate had fled back to St. Andrews, more than a little horrified at what she’d done. Not only hurting Emma, but Davey—someone she’d worked with, laughed with, someone innocent and fragile.

  She’d turned up at the hospital with a check for Davey’s mother, donating the money the paper had paid her to the boy’s medical fund. But that fixed nothing. Veronica would still have to spend the rest of her life looking in the mirror, knowing what she’d done in a fit of jealousy. Knowing she might as well have shoved that car off the road, shattered Davey’s arm, battered his head. She’d live with it forever, just as Emma would. Maybe that was punishment enough.

  Emma would face the same thing. She didn’t blame the kids for treating her like a pariah. Watching Beth was hardest of all. Veronica, Beth’s best friend, had betrayed the boy Beth loved. And because of Emma’s fame the whole world knew it.

  The teenager wept silently and mumbled prayers by turn, breaking down whenever she sighted a camera. “Make them go away!” Beth finally shrieked at Emma, driving her from the room. “Why don’t you make them go away?”

  Beth was right. That was at least one thing Emma could do. Draw the paparazzi away from the hospital doors. Once she left Scotland, they would follow her.

  But she’d have to leave Jared. Leave Davey before he woke up. Before they knew if Davey’s mind was still bursting with potential and the wires and tubes were swept away. Before his mother could hold him in her arms again. Before Emma could tell him how sorry she was.

  At least Davey’s fears about Beth would be banished for good. The girl not only still loved him, she loved Davey all the more. If Davey woke up…no, when he woke up, he’d be fine, Emma told herself. He and Beth would be happy together. Someday marry, have the babies Emma never would. They’d spend summers with Jared, digging for treasure. And he wouldn’t be alone.

  That would have to be enough. She’d make that be enough.

  Emma shook herself from her thoughts as she saw the doctor shake Jared’s hand. The doctor patted Mrs. Harrison’s shoulder, tucked his charts under his arm and headed for the door. He was so preoccupied, he almost ran into Emma. “Ms. McDaniel!”

  “Is there—is there any change in Davey?”

  He gave her an encouraging smile. “Some signs look hopeful. We just have to have patience and let the body heal itself.”

  “Right.”

  “Quite a carnival around here with you in town. I nearly ran over a reporter when I pulled into my parking space.”

  Emma winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. Of course, I wish we’d met under different circumstances. But my boy is a huge fan of yours. He’s probably watched each Jade Star movie forty-eight times.”

  Oh, God. Her stomach sank. “Then he needs to do something else with his time.”

  Great idea, Emma. Piss off the guy who’s going to be sticking needles in Davey’s arm.

  She tried to backpedal. “I’m sorry. I haven’t slept much the last four days.”

  “Of course. It was insensitive of me. But Allan’s fifteenth birthday is coming up. You know how hard it is to find a present at that age.”

  She thought of her cousins, Will and Amy, hinting at what car they wanted. “I know.”

  The doctor hesitated, then obviously decided to go for it. “If I could get your autograph it would be the best birthday Allan has ever had. He’d be thrilled.”

  Emma closed her eyes for a moment, pulling in a weary breath. “Of course.”

  The doctor pulled the DVD of the last Jade Star out of his lab coat pocket and handed her a permanent marker. Nothing like coming prepared, Emma thought. She scrawled Happy Birthday and her name across the plastic cover.

  “Grand!” the doctor said as she returned it to him. “I’ve seen all your movies—of course, not as often as my son has! I hear you’ll be making one here
in Scotland during this year. The story of our own Lady Aislinn. The whole town has been in a dither of excitement about it.”

  Emma swallowed hard. Looking through the doorway at Jared, at Davey, everything she could never have. “There’s been a change of plans,” she said. “I’m going back to America. Tonight.”

  It was all arranged. Snib, who had guarded her in the days since the accident as if she were one of his lambs, had promised to take her to the airport, where a private plane would be waiting. But first she needed to collect the only things that mattered from the tower room. The scrappy little terrier and the battered purple-framed picture of the family she still had to face.

  She ached to hold Captain in her arms, bury her face in his fur and cry out her pain, the hopelessness raging through her. Her little buddy would keep her from falling apart in the years to come. Someone who loved her, who would be waiting for her when she came to whatever home she made for herself somewhere.

  And her family—they had to keep on loving her, in spite of what she’d done. She was a McDaniel. Emma’s stomach twisted. Had the barrage of headlines started hammering them yet? How was her baby sister really holding up? Hope’s voice had sounded so small the times Emma had talked to her. But Jake would be standing guard over his family. And as long as Hope had her tap shoes, Jake would be able to get his daughter’s mind off the trouble, at least for a little while. And it seemed the rest of the family would soon be distracted as well.

  Last time Emma had talked to her mom, Deirdre Stone had been packing. Uncle Cade planned to load the whole extended family into one of his planes to fly them to his best friend’s ranch in Montana for a few weeks. Jett Davis knew exactly what they were up against. The plane-crazy actor had spent years building walls around his life to keep the world out. The McDaniels would be safe behind them.

  Emma would join the family there, stay until things cooled off enough for them to come back home. To March Winds with its gazebo and the antique wedding dress she’d never wear. To Jake’s craftsman-style bungalow, every board lovingly restored by his own hands. To a mother with her own ghosts and shadows, who understood the pain of hurting the people you loved most, regretting words you could never take back.