Kasey Michaels - The Hopechest Bride p.03

Austin McGrath pushed the last manila folder into his briefcase and looked across the coffee table at Meredith and Joe Colton. "There's a lot of information here, just as you said, Joe, but I can already think of a few avenues that weren't pursued by any of Patsy's investigators. I'm not proud to say this about fellow P.I.s, but it would appear that the ones Patsy hired were more interested in getting her money and stringing out the investigation than they were in locating Jewel."

Meredith leaned forward on the couch, her hands clenched tightly as she rested her arms on her knees. "Really? Patsy would hate to hear that, she always took so much pride in being smarter than anyone else. But you think you can do it? It was such a long time ago, Austin."

"Over thirty years," he agreed, making a slight face. "However, that might be the one thing in our favor. Adoption law has changed, and many adoptees have begun looking for their biological parents. They've set up organizations, sites on the Internet—and many formerly closed adoptions are now pretty close to public record."

"So Patsy's daughter, grown now, actually might be looking for her?" Joe put in, also leaning forward. "I hadn't thought about that. She's certainly old enough to be in charge of her own life, make her own decisions about something like this. And she could be out there, looking. Searching the same way Patsy has been searching."

Meredith sighed. "Her father murdered, her mother the murderer. Her lying, cheating father selling her at birth to hide the illegitimate child from his wife and family. Maybe she shouldn't be looking, Austin. Maybe she's better off not knowing. Maybe we're doing more harm here than good."

Joe and Austin exchanged glances, and Austin said, snapping his briefcase shut, "Tell you what, Meredith. I'll look at this from both directions—our hunt of Jewel, and her possible hunt for her biological parents. If I find her, and if her name appears nowhere on any list of adoptees looking for information about their biological parents, then we'll stop right there, possibly reconsider our approach. But if she's already looking for Patsy? If she has indicated in any way that she wants to find her biological mother? Well, then we should probably go ahead. What's that old saying? Better the devil you know?"

"Patsy being the devil Jewel would finally know, the answer, any answer, being better than a lifetime of questions," Meredith said, reaching into her pocket for a small white linen handkerchief, then pressing it to her eyes. "Joe?" she asked, turning to look at her husband. "What do you think?"

He reached over, squeezed her hand. "I think we should let Austin get to work," he said, then rose, extending his hand to the private investigator who was also his foster daughter's husband. "One thing's certain. At least this will all stay in the family. The last thing we need is more press. Austin, thank you."

"You got it, Joe," Austin said, then went over to bend down, kiss Meredith's cheek. "I'll report back as soon as I learn anything. Just please remember that I'm following an awfully cold trail, so this might take a while."

Meredith reached up, stroked Austin's cheek. "I promise not to pester, Austin," she said, blinking back tears. "But we only have a month. Patsy only gave us a month."

* * *

"I'll see your three M&M's, and raise you two. Blue ones. They count as quarters, right?"

Josh picked through his own stash of candies, pushing three red and two blues into the pile on the sleeping bag. "Quarters, right. That must be some hand you have there," he said, inspecting his own cards, three twos and two kings.

They'd found the deck of cards in the plastic container, and Josh had challenged Emily to a few hands of poker, never believing she'd take him up on it. M&M's were their chips, and Emily was beating him, badly. If she'd agreed to strip poker, he'd be down to his shorts by now.

"Call," he said, then leaned back, waited for Emily to lay down her cards.

"Full house, queens over tens," she said, and he threw his own cards facedown on the sleeping bag, indicating that he'd lost.

"Let me see," she said, reaching for his cards.

"Hey!" he countered, quickly scooping them up again. "I thought you promised me that you know the rules. You win the pot, not a peek. I'd rather my strategies remained my own, thank you very much."

"Strategy? You have a strategy? What is it—hoping like hell? I'll bet you were bluffing."

Josh looked at Emily, her eyes bright, her smile wide, that glorious hair of hers tumbling down in a warm, living flame. "I never bluff," he said, trying to sound dark and menacing.

"Oh, yeah, right," Emily said with a sniff, gathering up the cards and beginning to deftly shuffle them against her bent knee. "And you never back down, either. Except maybe when you almost walk in on a hibernating mama bear and her cubs. Then you don't back down—you run like hell. Except it wasn't a bear, was it? It was just a shadow."

Josh sucked in his cheeks. "Could have been a bear," he offered weakly, knowing that he'd only pretended to be scared, just so that Emily would react, have a good laugh at his expense, maybe relax her guard a little.

"Could have been a lot of things," Emily agreed, unable to hide her satisfaction. "Luckily, it was a huge rock and a bunch of dry scrub that blew into the cave and lodged against it. The fire is nice, by the way."

"Anything to please the lady," Josh said, picking up the cards she'd dealt him. He looked at his hand—pure garbage. "You wouldn't be dealing from the bottom of the deck, would you?" he asked as he anted-up—two brown M&M's. "Or maybe these cards are marked?"

Emily sat up straight, sort of wiggled around where she sat, her eyelids narrowed as she deliberately wiped the side of her hand beneath her nose. "Them's fightin' words, cowboy," she told him.

"Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do about it?" he countered, turning his cards around to show her the mess of nothing she'd dealt him. "We haven't even drawn cards yet. Let me see your hand. Now."

"You get the pot, not a peek," she said, repeating his own words to him as she went to pick up the deck, slide her own hand into the pile.

He caught her wrist with one hand and reached for her cards with the other. She wasn't letting go, and she slapped at his hands to make him release her. Within moments, they were rolling around on the sleeping bag, M&M's scattering everywhere, Emily giggling as she fought to keep control of her cards.

Josh got her onto her back, then straddled her, her efforts to free herself beating against him with all the impact of butterfly wings. Within moments he had her cards, then sat back on his haunches, on her, to look at them.

"Four jacks and an ace," he said, shaking his head. "Now tell me these cards aren't marked."

"Well, I did think that was being a little greedy. I was going to take two cards, giving back the ace and one of the jacks," Emily said, trying to be sincere, although her giggle sort of ruined her sincerity act. "Honest."

"Uh-huh, sure you were," Josh said, turning one of the cards over, inspecting the back of it. "Marked. And not even well. I guess I wasn't paying attention. Damn! Where did you get these?"

Emily lifted her arms to push her curls away from either side of her face. "Rand, my brother, gave them to me when he was cleaning out his room before he left home. They're ancient, from some bunch of magic trick stuff he'd had stuck in the back of his closet. I just keep them up here if I want to play Solitaire. I forgot they were marked, honest. But…then I remembered." She bit her bottom lip, trying not to smile. "I like M&M's, okay?"

Josh flipped the cards to one side, then took hold of Emily's wrists, pressed them back against the sleeping bag as he bent low over her face. "You…are…a menace," he said, trying to keep his own humor in check. "What if I had said we could play strip poker?"

Emily lowered her eyelids for a moment, and then he was dazzled once more by the sight of her huge blue, mischievous eyes looking up at him. "Wow," she said. "Strip poker, huh? Wouldn't that have been something?"

Josh looked at her, feeling the mood change, shift, slide into something not at all teasing. He lowered himself until his face was within inches of hers. She was so soft, beneath him. Her chest rose and fell, and he could imagine how she'd feel through the soft, worn flannel. Her mouth was so inviting.

Another inch. All he had to do was move another inch lower. Close the gap. Taste her.

Emily looked up at him, not flinching, not withdrawing, not trying to free her arms from his grip. She pressed her lips together, the tip of her tongue appearing for a moment as she moistened those lips. "Um…I think…I think you should get off me now," she said, her voice low, nearly a whisper.

"Yeah," Josh said, at last reclaiming at least a small part of his common sense. "I think so, too." He let go of her wrists, reluctantly, then lifted himself off her. "I'll go hunt up something for the horses while you decide what we're having for dinner, okay?"

"Okay," Emily said, quickly jackknifing herself to a sitting position, turning her back to him. "That sounds like a plan."

"Only one I've got," Josh said, heading for his slicker. He should leave it in the cave. He could use a cold shower.

* * *

"Rain's stopped," Martha said, standing at the French doors, looking out into the garden as the sky rapidly turned dark. "No stars, though, and no moon. Just what looks to be a bunch of gray clouds hanging low over the ocean."

"Another storm," Meredith said, bending over a box of clothing Joe had brought to her from the basement storage area. "Although this one might actually go south, Joe told me. I hope so. Emily has yet to phone us, and her phone is turned off, so we can't reach her. She'd phone if she had any trouble, I'm sure of that. Joe said reception could be interrupted up in the hills, because of the storm, and—Oh, Martha, I know Emily has a good head on her shoulders, but I still don't like the thought of her stuck out there, unable to get home."

"Yes," Martha said, turning away from the window. "What if she develops appendicitis? What if she runs out of food? What if…what if? Our minds can do terrible things to us, can't they?"

"Well, mine hadn't thought of appendicitis—until now. Thanks so much, Martha," Meredith said with a rueful smile, pulling out a green crewneck sweater with red reindeer running across the chest. "Ah, Joe found the right box. Come here, Martha, and look at this. I made it myself. Every child wore this for at least one Christmas."

Martha took the sweater, the better to admire it. "Meredith, one of these reindeer only has three legs."

Meredith smiled, her face aglow with memories—memories too long hidden from her. "I did say I made it myself. It was one of my first efforts, and I actually improved with practice. But Joe says this one is special, just because of the three-legged reindeer, and the kids seemed to agree with him. Michael named him. Hopscotch. Isn't that a silly name? But Michael loved that sweater. He…" Her voice trailed off and she bit her lip, turned her head away from her friend.

Martha put an arm around Meredith's shoulder. "Sometimes the memories hurt, don't they? I'm sorry."

Meredith nodded her head, closed her eyes tight. "He was such a sweet boy. We still miss him, all of us, although Drake was hit hardest of all. His twin, you understand, plus he was there when Michael was run over. So young. Michael was only eleven when he died. So many dreams yet to live. Oh, Martha, you're right. This hurts. Remembering hurts."

"Should I ask someone to put the box back in the basement?" Martha asked, folding up the sweater, tracing a hand over Hopscotch, her own tender heart touched.

"No, not yet," Meredith said, sitting down on the couch and pulling the box toward her. "I gave a lot of the children's clothing away, to Hopechest, but I always hung on to some things, some special things. It would seem like I'm going to have too many grandchildren to be able to distribute these old clothes fairly. Besides, each child has already taken his or her own special favorites, a tradition I began before I…before I left."

She bent low over the box, carefully lifting layer after layer of clothing until she found what she was looking for. "Here we go, Martha," she said, pulling out handmade striped mittens, a matching scarf and beret. The stripes were bright: red, yellow, blue, green.

"You did say the coat you bought Tatania today was red, didn't you? Poor child, shivering in her sweater and just a thin rain poncho, all her clothes lost in the fire that took her mother. I love little girls in cheery, bright red coats. That's what made me think of this set I crocheted so many years ago. I think these will match perfectly."

Martha accepted the items, her eyes stinging with tears. "They're beautiful, Meredith. Are you sure—"

"Positive," she answered, closing the box again, leaving the reindeer sweater on the couch beside her. "And Hopscotch, too. Of course, the sweater is only a loan, but none of my grandchildren are big enough yet to wear it, so I'd really like Tatania to have the honor this Christmas."

Now Martha's tears escaped, and she wiped at them without embarrassment. "Meredith, I knew. From the moment I first met you, I knew. You're special. You've always been special. And I'm honored to call you my friend."

* * *

"Rain's stopped," Josh said, standing at the mouth of the cave. "If no more storms roll in, we'll probably be able to get out of here tomorrow morning as soon as it's light."

Emily looked down at her fork, filled with canned ravioli. They'd had ravioli for dinner last night, lunch today, and again for dinner. How she rued the loss of her food bag, and Inez's fried chicken. She'd pay serious money for roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy. For that alone, she should be happy that the rain had stopped. Even happier that they'd be able to leave here tomorrow.

Her to the Hacienda de Alegria, Josh to the Rollins Ranch, or the rodeo circuit, or wherever he'd head next.

They'd both be free of each other, of this enforced cohabitation that had been anything but easy.

Free to go on their way…with nothing said, nothing resolved…and with him still believing she'd left his brother…her still knowing that she'd been the cause of Toby's violent death.

"That's nice," she said, then lifted the fork to her mouth, the ravioli tasting like sawdust.

Could she do this? Should she do this? Just wait for the rain to stop, and then go home, let him ride away?

He was so like Toby, and yet so different. Where Toby had inspired her friendship, Josh affected her in a much more elemental way.

She'd see his face in her dreams for years to come. She'd hear his voice, recognize his walk, come alert at the special mixture of smells—of horse, of leather, of his shaving cream—that had this unwanted ability to rouse her, make her want, make her need.

It would never work. Not between the two of them. Even if he was all Toby had been, yet so much more. Even if there had been no Toby, and they'd just met, connected, admitted to the electricity that leapt between them with just a look.

They came from two different worlds, she and Josh. Emily knew herself to be a plant that needed deep roots, even if she did like to feel independent. Josh had no roots, none at all. He went where the wind blew him, where the circuit took him.

Emily couldn't live like that.

What was she thinking? Of course she could never live like that! He hadn't asked her, had he? So why was she even thinking about such a thing? Why was she suddenly so disappointed that the rain had stopped?

"Josh," she said at last, as he returned to the meager fire and picked up his own plate. "I think we need to talk."




Ten

Josh put down his plate, not exactly hungry anyway. "Talk?" he repeated, looking at Emily. Her beautiful face looked white and pinched in the campfire, her burnished curls making a soft halo about her head, turning her look fragile. Vulnerable. "Not if you don't want to, Emily," he heard himself say, unable to believe he actually was about to let the woman off the hook.

What was wrong with him?

Big blue eyes, that was what was wrong with him. That air—more than an air—of innocence. That was what was wrong with him. He'd gone soft, just as his brother, Toby, had gone soft, almost eager to cut this girl some slack, give her every benefit of the doubt, believe her excuses, maybe even her lies.

"Well, no, I don't want to," Emily said, putting down her own plate, laying it to one side as she sat forward, her clasped hands on her knees. "This isn't a matter of wanting to, it's a question of whether or not I can live with myself if I don't talk to you."

"About Toby," Josh said, staring at the tips of his boots as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Okay. I'll start, because I did want to tell you about him. Tell you about the Toby I know…knew."

"That would be nice," Emily said, her voice small, coming to him seemingly from very far away. "He told me you'd pretty much raised him. Is that true?"

Josh wanted to pace, but he stayed where he was, memories bubbling to the surface of his brain, fleeting snapshots of a younger, smiling Toby flashing before his eyes.

"Yeah, that's true enough, I suppose. Mom died when I was ten years old—Toby was only about six. We had our dad, but drink also had our dad." He lifted his head, looked over at Emily. "He was a good man at heart, but Mom's death, well, it took most of that heart out of him. He'd drink, lose his job, promise to do better. We lost our house, then moved from town to town, from cheaper apartment to cheaper apartment, running out on our rent because Dad had drunk his paycheck. But he was sorry. He was always so, so very sorry. So were we."

"You loved him," Emily said, nodding her head.

Josh rubbed at his forehead. "Loved him? I suppose so. But we'd lost our mother, just like he'd lost his wife. And then we lost our father, too, to the bottle."

"I don't want to interrupt, Josh, but I think I sort of know what happened, not from experience, as I was too young to remember my own circumstances except for what I was told, but because I've seen this sort of thing. We have this place near my home, Hopechest Ranch, where a lot of us in the family volunteer time. A place for troubled children, abandoned children. I've never ceased to be amazed at the maturity of those children who'd lived with an alcoholic parent. They become little parents themselves, taking care of the other children in the family, acting as parent to their own mom or dad. They lose their childhood, and it's sad to see."

Josh felt his jaw tightening. "Toby didn't lose his childhood. I made sure of that."

Emily's sympathetic look set his teeth even more on edge. "Yes, I'll bet you did. Parent to the parent, parent to the sibling. Making the meals, cleaning the house, hunting down the parent at local bars, trying to bring that parent home before the whole paycheck was gone. All that responsibility, and no time for your own childhood."

"I did what I did, and I'd do it again," Josh told her, willing himself to be calm. This wasn't about him, it was about Toby. "And we made it, damn it. Dad died, but not until after Toby had graduated from the local community college and had been accepted at the police academy." He felt a smile tease at the corners of his mouth, surprising him. "He wanted to help people, Toby said. To him, being a policeman meant helping people. He actually believed he could make a difference."

"Toby did make a difference, Josh," Emily said, poking a long, thin stick into the small fire. "He saved my life."

Josh looked at her, really, really looked at her. "Tell me about it," he said at last. "I need to hear what happened. Not the police report version. What really happened."

Emily continued to poke at the fire, her head bowed. "Yes. It's time, isn't it? I'd like to start at the beginning, if that's all right with you."

Josh listened to the sound of the howling wind outside the cave. "Start anywhere you want, Emily. I don't think we're going anywhere for a while. Just as long as you tell me about Toby."

Emily nodded her head, laid down the stick, carefully, as if it were made of crystal. "It all really starts months earlier, with my mother's twin sister, and with her plan to kill me."

Josh remained silent as Emily told him about Patsy Portman. She'd already told him about the planned "accident," of how the switch had been made so many years ago. Now she told him of those next nearly ten years, of how it had been to live in the same house with a woman who looked like her mother, yet, to Emily, couldn't be her mother.

She didn't whine, tell her story as if asking for his pity, but only accentuated the fact that she'd always had questions, reservations about this woman who acted so differently than the loving mother she'd known.

"I had dreams, nightmares really, and they got worse over the years, never better. I began to remember more, question more. One day I spoke with one of our longtime kitchen employees, Nora Hickman, asking her if she saw what I saw." She paused, looked up at Josh. "Three days later, Nora was dead, the victim of a hit-and-run."

"Patsy?"

Emily shook her head. "Only indirectly. She wasn't driving the car, although she did pay for Nora to have some sort of fatal accident that couldn't be traced to her. She left the method itself to Silas Pike."

Josh's hands drew up into fists. "The man who murdered Toby."

"Yes. But nobody had yet identified the driver, or realized why Nora was killed. I certainly hadn't, although I wondered why Nora had died. If I'd believed the woman in our house wasn't really Meredith—if I'd truly believed that—I probably would have remembered more of the details of my conversation with Nora and put two and two together. But all I had were my doubts, my fears. Besides, how could I tell my father that I thought his wife wasn't his wife—that maybe his wife was a murderer? Dad wouldn't have believed me. Nobody would believe me. Why should they? Lord knows nobody believed me all those years, all those nearly ten years."

"Because you didn't believe it yourself," Josh said. "It's difficult to believe the worst of your parent, believe it deep in your heart, even when the evidence is right there in front of you."

Emily's shoulders, that had been nearly hunched as she spoke, visibly relaxed, lowered. "You understand," she said, smiling at him, tears in her eyes. "I didn't think anyone would understand."

Josh's smile was rueful. "Hey, my dad was a fall-down drunk, but I'd challenge anyone who ever looked down on him, said anything bad about him to my face. So you keep on keeping on, part of you knowing the worst, another part of you refusing to believe that same truth. You didn't know that Patsy was impersonating your mother. You just knew that your mother didn't seem…right. So if Nora died, and your mother had something to do with it…?"

"I couldn't face that, not at the time," Emily ended for him. "But then Silas Pike was in my room, in the dark, and I could see the outline of the knife he held in his hand. I had been out with some friends and I came into an empty house and was just heading to bed. I saw him from my doorway."

"God," Josh said quietly, shaking his head. "That's when you ran?"

"I had no other choice. Mom—Patsy—was already hinting to everyone that I was unbalanced. And now I was seeing outlines of murderers skulking around in my bedroom at midnight? I had to run. I had to figure out how to approach Dad, the family—make them believe what I believed. I had to go somewhere alone, to think, to sort everything out."

"And you landed in Keyhole," Josh said, sighing. "What's that line from Casablanca? 'Of all the gin joints in all the world, why'd she have to walk into mine?' Something like that. But you walked into that small café in Keyhole, and into Toby's life. Our lives."

"Lying," she added, when he didn't say the words. "I came into Toby's life, lying, telling him I'd lost my fiancé in a car wreck, and had come to Wyoming to forget, to try to rebuild my life." She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face as she looked at Josh. "If I hadn't lied…if I'd told him the truth? If I'd told him that I was afraid, that a killer might be on my tail…?"

Josh did stand up now and begin to pace. He couldn't sit still any longer. "You had your reasons for keeping silent. I can see that now." He stopped pacing, turned to look down at her. "That night. Tell me about that night."

"More guilt. Another mistake." Emily shrugged, twisting her hands in her lap. "But first I have to back up a few months. Pike had found me in Keyhole, back in the spring. I came home from the café and he was there…in my house, waiting. I called Toby—" She remembered the day vividly, would never forget it. "I got away before he could hurt me and I ran…again. I went north to Montana, and I was there when Rand, my brother, summoned me to Mississippi. He'd found out—doesn't matter how—that my mother was living there, a victim of amnesia.

"That should have been the end of it, but it wasn't. Mom…well, Mom wasn't ready yet to go back to California, back to her own life. I should have stayed with Rand until Mom was ready to go home, or with my cousin Liza—anyone at all—but I didn't. I went back to Montana, to my life—such as it was. But I—I couldn't stop thinking of Toby. Finally, I felt I owed it to him to go back to Keyhole, to explain myself to him, to say a proper goodbye."

"Because you knew he loved you."

Emily bit her bottom lip, nodded her head. "Yes, because I knew he loved me. I had to tell him that I loved him, too, but that I wasn't in love with him," she agreed quietly. Then she looked up at Josh, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "I thought I was safe! I never would have gone back if I didn't think it was safe to do so—never! I wouldn't have put Toby in danger."

"I believe you."

"Wh-what?" Emily blinked back tears as she looked up at Josh, that film of tears softening his features, making him look more like his younger brother. "You believe me?"

"I'm not a total jerk, Emily. I believe you."

"But—but I was so arrogant! I never disguised myself, never believed anyone could have followed me, and yet Silas Pike mentioned my hair when he broke into my motel cottage that night. He said…he said people remembered my long hair. I should have cut it, dyed it—something." She shook her head, so that her hair fell forward over her face, hiding her features. "Mistakes. I made so many mistakes, and those mistakes cost your brother his life. Oh, God, Toby, I'm so sorry!"

Josh crossed in front of the fire and went down on his haunches in front of Emily, so that they were face-to-face when she finally lifted her head once more. He reached out with both hands, smoothing her hair away from her tear-wet cheeks. "He knows, Emily," he said quietly. "He knows."

Emily's sob caught in her throat and she drooped forward, laying her cheek on Josh's shoulder, holding on to him as she cried. Bitter tears, yet cleansing tears, tears Josh wished he could shed himself, because then maybe he'd feel better, less guilty himself.

"That night, Emily," he urged her when her sobs had subsided into the occasional sniffle. "What happened? The police report I read was only preliminary, written before they were able to interview you."

Emily sat back, leaving him feeling suddenly abandoned as she slid her arms away from his shoulders, settled them in her lap once more. "I'd taken a cottage at a motel on the outskirts of Keyhole. Toby…We'd made plans to see each other the next day, but he came that night. I couldn't tell him everything that night, it…just seemed too soon. Besides, he was on duty, so there really wasn't time. We visited…and then he left."

Josh frowned. "So how did Pike manage to get into your cottage?"

"My stupidity again. I opened the door to him, thinking he was Toby, coming back. Who else could it be, but Toby? I didn't think. I just didn't think."

She picked up the long hem of her flannel shirt, wiped at her streaming tears like a child scrubbing her face. "He burst through the door as I opened it," she said, closing her eyes, making a face. "God, he was so ugly, so frightening. He seemed to fill the whole room. And then there was this gun…and all I could see was the gun. It looked like a cannon, a cannon pointing straight at me. He wanted me to turn around, so that he could shoot me in the back, but I wouldn't do that. I refused. And then…and then I sort of dived behind the couch, because I couldn't just stand there and let him shoot me. And then the door opened, and I heard Toby call my name. There were gunshots, two of them. I didn't know what happened, I couldn't see anything. I just cowered there, until I heard a moan. Toby's moan."

"And Pike?"

"He was gone. The door was wide open, and he was gone. Only Toby was there, lying on the floor, this…this…" Her hands fluttered, resettled in her lap. "This blood everywhere. I knelt down beside him and he smiled up at me. 'I forgot my hat,' he said. 'I forgot my hat…'"

Emily pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes seeing another scene, not the inside of the cave, not Josh, sitting so close in front of her. "He'd somehow hit the Alert button on his uniform, so officers had to be on their way—but I knew they wouldn't arrive for at least fifteen minutes, not all the way from town to the motel."

Josh nodded his head. "The panic button. Cops use it to summon help if they're in trouble. It's part alarm, part locater. But Toby didn't think you could wait for other officers? Did he think Pike was still close by, waiting to take another shot at you?"

"I think so. Toby must have thought so. He reached for my hand, asked me if I'd been hurt. He was dying, and he asked if I was hurt. Then he told me to run, to get away, to leave him. I—I couldn't. How could I leave him? I wanted to stay, get him some help, but I think we both knew help couldn't arrive in time, at least not for him. And then…he was gone."

She looked at Josh helplessly. "He was holding my hand, and then he was gone."

* * *

Josh lay awake, holding Emily close to him, his heart breaking each time she whimpered in her sleep, still obviously reliving Toby's death in her nightmare.

A hat.

Toby had died because he'd forgotten his hat.

Emily was alive because Toby had forgotten his hat.

How did a person justify such a thing? Calling it Fate sounded like too much, terming it coincidence seemed like too little.

Josh felt something sticking him in the back, and reached under him, pulling out one of the cards they'd played with earlier. He held it up, looked at it, unable to see the face of the card in the darkness, and a thought hit him.

Josh's dad had called it the luck of the draw, as if life was one big card game. Sometimes you drew well, sometimes you got the Joker. Josh's mother had drawn the Joker, and was dead within months of her diagnosis. His dad had kept trying for the Ace, and Lady Luck had kept dealing him Jokers, too.

According to his father, it just all boiled down to the luck of the draw. Either you had it, or you didn't.

Toby hadn't had it that night. But, then, neither did Emily, and she hadn't been drawing good cards for a long while, a lot of years. Maybe it was just time for her luck to turn good, just as it had been time for Toby's luck to run out.

Don't ask why, say why not. Don't try to rationalize, place blame. All luck isn't good, all the cards we're dealt aren't Aces. All the platitudes sounded so rational, in the dark of the night, here in this cave, Emily lying beside him, her breathing finally soft, and regular.

Josh sat up, held the card closer to the dying fire. What would it be? He hadn't been drawing many Aces himself. Was it time his luck changed?

Squinting, he turned the card toward the light of the fire, then looked at the card for a long, long time.

The Ace of Hearts.

"Damn," he whispered quietly, turning the card over and over in his fingers. He looked at Emily, snuggled under the sleeping bag, her hair not tied back in a ponytail, but spreading against the seat of the saddle—warm, and inviting, and begging for him to touch it, slide his fingers through it, push that length away from her nape so that he could press his lips against the side of her throat.

Toby had loved this woman. Josh desired her. Toby had seen her as gentle, needing his protection. Josh saw her as strong, if troubled. Toby believed he could make Emily love him, be content to settle in Keyhole, raise kids and go to church on Sunday. Josh didn't believe anything, about anything, about anyone.

Toby should have lived. Maybe then he could have convinced Emily that his love was true, that there was a happy ending for the two of them. Then Josh could keep up his rambling, rootless ways, and visit Toby and Emily on holidays, at which time he'd have to crawl into a bottle just as his dad had, to block the sight of Emily and his brother, together, from his mind.

Because he wanted this woman. He wanted her for himself. He ached for her in ways both physical and emotional, and he wanted her for all time. But he knew he couldn't have her, not with Toby alive, not with Toby dead. It just wasn't in the cards for them.

Josh rubbed hard at his closed eyes with thumb and forefinger, then stabbed his hand into his hair. Was he out of his mind?

He tossed the card into the flames, lay down again, and turned his back on the sleeping Emily.




Eleven

Emily stirred in her sleep and opened one eye.

She was on her side. Her left side. She never slept on her left side, never.

Worse, she was snuggled up to Josh's back, chest to toes, folded against him, her knees tucked behind his, one arm cupping his waistline.

In sleep she had done what she refused to even think about while awake. She'd somehow gravitated toward Josh Atkins, sought out his warmth, his strength, the very solidness of him. And, once she'd found it, she'd hung on for dear life…and slept soundly for the first time in months, perhaps years.

She closed her eye, rubbed her cheek against the flannel of his shirt, amazed at the feel of taut muscle beneath that soft material. She remembered his body as she'd seen it that first night, when he'd stripped off his shirt before she could avert her eyes, pretend disinterest.

Whipcord lean, not an ounce of fat. Muscles that rippled rather than bulged. Those scars on both his belly and chest. A deep tan that told her he spent long hours working, shirtless, in the sun. A man of iron, from his physical body to his strong mind.

But his eyes were like Toby's, in much more than their color. There was a softness to Josh Atkins, a humanity—even if he tried his best to pretend it didn't exist. He had all of Toby's caring ways—for who had raised Toby, taught Toby, if it hadn't been his big brother? But where Toby had been young, still somewhat unformed, Josh's unprotected life had served to carve the grown man to mimic the strength of granite, the hardness of diamonds.

He was the Grand Canyon, rock that stood strong, even while shaped and carved by storms, by the sheer passage of time. The rivers, the weather, had eroded a lot of his softness, leaving this hard exterior, one that could stand up to threats from without, although he could still be deeply moved, hurt, by the threats from within.

No, his softness, his humanness hadn't been eroded. It had gone inside, hidden in the caves of self-preservation. But it was all still there. It shone in his eyes as he'd spoken about his brother, it had manifested itself as he'd allowed her to cry on his shoulder last night, as he had held her close, comforted her. His brother was dead, wrongly, tragically, and he had comforted her.

Molly whinnied softly, blowing, shifting her feet, and Josh's mount shook its head, its harness jingling. Morning. It would soon be morning. Through the night no more storms had rolled in, and the sun would soon rise.

It would be time to break camp, to head home. This strange, unreal interlude would be over, gone. Lost. Josh's softness, Josh's heart, would go back into hiding, and he'd ride away, go back to his lonely, solitary existence. She'd never see him again.

Toby had so loved his big brother. He'd spoken of Josh often, and he'd confessed that he wished his brother would settle down, leave the rodeo circuit, put down some roots. "He needs the love of a good woman," Toby had told her, half smiling. "We all need the love of a good woman."

Love? Was that possible? Was Josh Atkins the sort of man who could recognize love, would accept it if it was offered? He had to be in his mid-thirties, and had been forced to grow up at an age when other boys were playing Little League and trading baseball cards. And, except for his love for his brother, his heart had been locked away, forced to hide in order to protect him from more hurt, more disappointment.

He'd become a loner, mature beyond his years, hardened by circumstance. Emily had read case histories of children like Josh, even children like Toby. The oldest—the "protector/parent." The younger—the "sheltered innocent."

Toby had grown up wanting to help others, to make a contribution, to make a difference.

Josh had grown up, handled all his responsibilities, and then gone in search of the childhood he'd never been allowed to live. What was a thirty-something-year-old man who had no home, who followed the rodeo circuit, who picked up and dropped odd jobs because it was time to move on, before roots dared to form? Was he a man who kept his troubles packed in his bedroll, and took them with him, to the next town, the next ride, the next woman?

Was this a man a levelheaded, home-loving woman should ever love?

Emily's arm tightened as she kept it wrapped around Josh's waist. No. No, this definitely was not the sort of man she needed, should ever want.

And yet she didn't want to let him go.

Not now.

Not yet.

Molly whinnied again, and Josh stirred, slowly coming awake. He raised his right arm slightly, then held it in midair for a moment, as if giving her the opportunity to roll away from him, before slowly lowering it, his hand seeking and finding hers at his waist, squeezing her fingers. It felt so right, so natural. So much more than she'd expected, so much less than she wanted, suddenly needed.

Emily's blood ran hot, then cold, then hot once more as Josh lifted their joined hands to his mouth, pressed his lips against her fingertips. She felt her bottom lip begin to tremble, closed her eyes tightly to hold back sudden tears.

Josh released her hand as he shifted his long body, removing his heat, and turned over onto his right side, so that they lay facing each other. His eyes were clear, completely awake, and his mouth was so close it would take only a small movement for her to put lips to lips. His arm went around her, as hers had been around him, and he pulled her closer, so that their bodies touched again, this time belly-to-belly.

"Say no now, Emily. For God's sake, say no now."

He barely held her, yet she felt unable to move, to retreat. It was too late for retreat. She could only go forward. An inch, two, and their mouths met, their mouths melded, their bodies melded in the heat of the hottest summer day, right there, right then, on one of the coldest, dampest days in November.

Emily snaked an arm out from beneath the sleeping bag and slipped it around Josh's neck as he moved once more, his mouth never leaving hers, to put her fully on her back. Covering her with his body, his long legs entwining with hers.

She lay against a pair of rubberized ground sheets laid over the rocky floor of a cave, and yet she felt as if she were reclining on the finest goosedown, floating on a cloud, borne up by gossamer wings.

Her body was weightless, yet filled with sensation. The warmth that burned inside her, the chill that somehow accompanied it. The weight of Josh's body against hers, the wild, hungry sensations that accompanied each touch of his hand, each movement of his body.

Their kiss deepened, his mouth, his tongue becoming the center of her universe. She forgot to breathe, didn't need to breathe. She only needed to feel. Feel warm, feel loved…feel alive.

So long. She'd been asleep for so long, lost in her misery, her fears, her regrets.

This man knew. This man understood.

This man could help her, free her, absolve her, cleanse her.

She needed him, needed him so much.

And he needed her, Emily was sure of that. He needed someone to hold, someone to ease his own tortures, understand his grief, and maybe his own guilt.

Two hearts, two souls, came together in the most elemental of ways. Filling, slaking, comforting. Reminding them that life was for the living, life was to be lived, and dreams could only come true if you reached for them, reached for them now.

There was pain, but she didn't care, barely noticed. She'd had so much pain, inside her mind, inside her heart and soul, that this small, fleeting discomfort meant less than nothing. Because now she was whole. With Josh inside her, part of her, she was somehow whole.

His gentleness brought tears to her eyes, his rising passion delighted her, his strong arms held her safe as she soared, flew, scraped the stars so that they exploded around her, within her.

Josh's abrupt withdrawal and shuddering release at first confused her, but she quickly understood, held him even tighter against her, stroked his back, kissed his cheek, his neck, as his head lay heavily against her. His body was fluid now, his muscles smooth, almost slack, and she gloried in the softness of his skin, this new power she had discovered within herself.

She had given, and she had taken. He had taken and given in return. They had a bond now, they shared more than their pain, their grief.

Emily turned her head toward the mouth of the cave and saw the sun, filtered through the towering pine trees, making a bright, dusty path for the dawn of a new day…a new life.

* * *

Dawn came early at the Hacienda de Alegria, Martha Wilkes had discovered when she first came to stay with Joe and Meredith. She liked that. Dawn in Mississippi was slower; everything was slower in Mississippi. More leisurely, perhaps, but Martha realized now that perhaps she hadn't been built for leisurely awakenings.

It had taken her nearly fifty years, as a matter of fact, to realize she was awake at all, alive at all.

Now she woke with the dawn, eager to be up, dressed and off to Hopechest Ranch. She'd always liked her profession, believed she did good work, sometimes very good work. But never had she felt as fulfilled as she had these past days, walking with Tatania's hand in hers, Tatania feeling safe enough to talk, to giggle, even to skip in her new shoes.

How strange it had been, that first meeting of woman and child. Somehow Tatania had known, as Martha had known, that they were meant to find each other, feed each other, love and protect each other. The bond was almost instant, and immediately strong. The joy was incredible.

Martha stepped out of the shower, donned underwear and pulled on a thick white terry-cloth robe, then walked to the window that looked out, toward the distant mountains.

What a beautiful world!

Was she rushing things? Certainly she was. If she were her own patient, she'd prudently advise stepping back, moving more slowly, definitely not pinning all her happiness on one small child, the possibility that she could become mother to this one small child, find a home for the two of them, build a life, form a family.

But women did give birth, didn't they? One day a girl, a woman, and the next a mother. Holding a brand-new life in her arms, feeling emotions she'd only read about come flooding in with such a sweet intensity that it brought tears to her eyes, humbled her.

"I've given birth," Martha told the rising sun. "All my life, all my training, all my experience, has been the gestation, and now I have the chance to understand, really understand, what I've read, what I've seen and never experienced."

Martha padded over to her closet and pulled out a long wrap skirt fashioned of brown, yellow and white material patterned with giraffes, lions, tigers, animals that freely roamed the Serengeti. She teamed it with a soft yellow Angora pullover sweater, layered two lengthy strands of brown wooden beads around her neck, topped it all off with a longish, loose cape-like cotton jacket of chocolate brown.

Tatania would like the giraffes.

She unwrapped the length of Velcroed terry cloth from her head and checked her reflection in the mirror, assuring herself that her hair was fit to see the day. It was, and after the application of some face powder and lipstick, so was she.

Breakfast, an informal session with Meredith, a call to the Realtor about a house with home office she'd seen last night on the Internet, and then the short drive to the Hopechest Ranch. A full morning, and she looked forward to every minute of it, with a love of life that amazed, astonished her.

Martha knew Inez would be up and about, banging pans, preparing biscuits, but was surprised to see Meredith when she entered the kitchen, sitting at the table, sipping tea.

"Sun's up," Meredith said, smiling at Martha over the top of her cup. "I'm hoping Emily will ride in soon."

Behind her, at the stove, Inez turned to look at Martha and rolled her eyes. "Been up since before the dawn, clucking around here like a hen with one chick."

Martha smiled, took up what had become "her" chair, and thanked Inez, who put a cup of steaming coffee in front of her. "I don't blame you one little bit, Meredith. In fact, I wouldn't say you were wrong if you hadn't slept all night, just waiting for the dawn."

Meredith tipped her head to one side, looked at Martha. "Really? My goodness, who are you? Where's that woman who taught me that worrying and fretting change nothing and only deplete our stores of energy?"

Ducking her head slightly, Martha said, "She's in Mississippi, Meredith, sleepwalking through her days, hiding from her own emotions, thinking life is easier, safer, that way. And she can stay there, thank you very much. I'm—" She raised her head, grinned. "Well, I'm actually looking forward to worrying about Tatania, walking the floor, peeking out the window, waiting for her to come home from her very first date with some downy-cheeked boy I have frightened half to death with my questions concerning how he drives, how fast he drives, and does he know how badly I'd hurt him if Tatania isn't home by eleven o'clock."

"Eleven?" Meredith shook her head. "I didn't let my girls stay out past ten when they first dated. Or my boys. They hated that, but I told them, I'm the one worrying, so the sex of the child doesn't mean anything. But goodness, Martha, Tatania is only seven years old. Aren't you rushing things?"

"No, just dreaming about things I thought I'd never experience. And I certainly don't want to rush things. I want to enjoy every moment, not miss a moment."

Meredith's lovely brown eyes clouded, and Martha immediately realized her mistake. She put out her hand across the table, touched Meredith's arm. "I'm sorry, my friend."

"It's all right," Meredith told her, her smile wan, but there. "Everyone's been filling me in on what I've missed. Although I believe I'm seeing highly edited photographs and videos, so that Patsy doesn't appear anywhere. It's just such a roller-coaster ride of emotions, Martha. Video of Sophie's Meggie being born, learning that old friends have died, seeing weddings of my dearest children only through videos."

Then she smiled. "But I had a wonderful experience last night, after you'd gone to bed. I don't know how he got the idea, or where he and Maya found the time, but Drake unearthed the old film of Joe's and my wedding and had it transferred to videotape." Meredith actually blushed. "Joe and I watched it last night in our room."

Standing behind Meredith, Inez beamed, even as her eyes went bright with tears. "Maya asked me to find that old film when she and Drake first got the idea. She let me see it before Drake gave it to Mr. Colton. You were a beautiful bride, and still are."

"Thank you, Inez," Meredith said, her fingers nervously playing with her teaspoon. "It was so long ago. So much has happened since then. Even seeing the film was like watching two other people, two very different people, which I suppose we were." She sighed, deeply. "We were so young, Martha, so full of big dreams, huge hopes. I wonder, how would we approach those same vows now? Would we mouth them again so lightly, with such confidence, knowing what we know now? I'd like to think so. I'd really like to think so."

Martha and Inez exchanged looks, and Martha made a mental note to herself, and a silent promise to Meredith. Somehow, some way, she'd prove to Meredith that she and her Joe were still those two beautiful young people, still with so much of a bright future ahead of them.

* * *

Neither of them spoke, had spoken for the past hour.

One last breakfast of watery oatmeal, one more trip outside for the both of them. A gathering of firewood, to be stacked in a corner of the cave for the next time. Mucking out the latest "gifts" from the horses. Packing up, loading up, getting ready to move out.

To leave.

To go their separate ways.

What had happened between them was obviously not to be spoken about, by either of them. There was no embarrassment, no shame, but there was also no communication. They'd said volumes with their hands, their bodies, but the words remained unspoken, perhaps never to be spoken.

It was a mutual silence, a shared isolation, a separation between what had happened and what would happen next.

Emily took one last look around the cave, wondering if she'd ever come here again, if she could bear to ever come up here again. What had been her blessed solitude had now been shared, and Josh was as much a part of this cave now as she had ever been. A trace of him would always be here. She'd see him across the flames of the campfire, hear his soft breathing in the night. If that was all she'd ever have, then she would not come up here again. She couldn't.

Josh saddled Molly, secured the cinch and led the mare and his own mount out of the cave, into the sunlight. "I'll ride first, and you follow, until we're down out of the hills. Just in case there's trees down, or too much mud."

Emily nodded her agreement, and placed her foot in Josh's cupped hands as he helped her up into the saddle. She followed him as his mount surefootedly picked its way down the hillside, ducking her head as tree branches still dripping with rain brushed against her.

It was dark beneath the tall evergreens, but soon—too soon—it was all sunlight, the whole world seeming to stretch out in front of her, bathed in light, fresh from the rain, a beauty that stretched farther than she could see, all the way to the ocean.

Josh's light touch on the reins drew his mount to a stop, and then he turned the horse so that he was facing Emily. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not," he told her, his voice deep, slightly strained. "If you tell me to go to hell, be sure I'm halfway there. But if you're agreeable, I could come by the ranch tonight in my truck. We could talk. Maybe go somewhere for something to eat."

The newly formed ice around Emily's heart cracked, fell away. She'd been so ready for him to say goodbye, for him to move on, go to the next place, the next town, the next, the next, the next. "Dinner…um…dinner would be nice."

She couldn't see his eyes below the brim of his Stetson, but the slashes in his cheeks, the white of his teeth as he smiled, nearly turned her into a puddle of longing she'd only just begun to know existed. "Yeah, dinner would be good. Are you going to tell your parents about me? About the cave?"

She thought about his questions for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't think so. I'll just tell them I met you in town when I bought my new sleeping bag. Okay?"

He seemed to stiffen in the saddle, and she added hastily, "Josh, it isn't like that. I'm not ashamed, or whatever you're thinking. It's just…it's just that this is mine. What happened in that cave happened to me, to us. Where it goes from here, if it goes anywhere, is up to us. You don't know large families, Josh, but I do. Believe me, there's precious little that stays private, and I don't think I'm up to playing Twenty Questions with each and every Colton in the civilized world."

Now a real smile twitched at the corners of Josh's mouth. "Toby could ask enough questions for a family of twelve," he said, then lifted a hand, tipped his hat. "Take it slow with Molly, until she gets her legs back under her after being in the cave. See you tonight."

And then he was gone, riding off toward the Rollins Ranch, and Emily was alone once more. Alone, but not lonely.




Twelve

Josh's first instinct was to run. Pack up, quit his job and head out, get away. His reaction to that strong instinct was to curse under his breath, calling himself ten kinds of coward, twenty kinds of fool.

He shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have touched her. Hell, he shouldn't have stayed in that cave. Not for one night, definitely not for two.

Yes, she'd needed help. Her mare had run off, she was stranded, and hypothermia was only one of the problems that faced her. But she'd made a fire, hadn't she? She'd had a blanket, some canned food, a camp stove. She certainly hadn't fit the usual damsel in distress description, badly in need of a brave knight on his white steed to come charging to the rescue. He could have—should have—delivered the mare to the cave, then headed back down the hill, back to the Rollins Ranch.

He was a cowboy, damn it. He'd been out in worse weather than a Northern California rainstorm. He'd been in snow drifts up to his horse's shoulders, in cold so deep his eyelids nearly froze shut, rain so fierce and mud so treacherous that he'd actually seen cows drown in mud.

So he could have made it back to Rollins Ranch that first night, lightning and falling trees be damned.

Of course, what would have been the point of following Emily Colton, of tracking the woman for days, in town and then in the hills, if he only meant to say hello, go to hell, and then leave?

How he'd hated her, had tried so hard to hate her, blame her for Toby's death. It felt so right to blame her, because blaming himself was like ripping his own heart straight out of his chest.

"He was holding my hand, and then he was gone…"

The police report had been wrong, or just incomplete. She'd stayed. She hadn't run; she'd stayed. Even when Toby told her to leave, to save herself, she hadn't left him there to die alone. She'd stayed with him, comforted him. She'd known help was on the way, help that would definitely be too late for Toby, and might be too late for her.

She did the only thing she could.

Which didn't absolve him. He hadn't done the only thing he could. Sure, he'd been making some damn good prize money these past years, and bringing down big bucks from endorsements, storing a lot of it away for the day he'd buy his own spread, bring Toby to work that spread with him. But he'd kept hunting down that next ride, that next gold buckle, long after it had been time for him to stop, to turn the rodeo circuit over to younger men still with something to prove.

If he had only quit, bought that spread. And if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

Josh checked his own two mounts Rollins let him keep in the stables, then disconnected the horse trailer from his freshly washed dark-green pickup and headed for the Hacienda de Alegria.

He'd showered and dressed in his best jeans, a black shirt and black leather vest, then pulled on his beige suede, sheepskin-lined jacket and donned his freshly brushed black Stetson, the one he kept for special occasions. He was as dressed up as Josh Atkins ever got, and he was pretty sure he'd look as out of place in the living room of the Hacienda de Alegria as Senator Joe Colton and his wife would look in a honky-tonk rodeo bar, tossing back shots of rock 'n rye.

So that was his first shock, and a rather pleasant one, when Meredith Colton herself opened the door to his knock. She was better-looking than the grainy newspaper photos depicted her, slighter in build, yet with a strong chin and wise, intelligent brown eyes. And she was dressed casually, in a red-and-white checked flannel shirt and a pair of jeans that had seen a good amount of wear.

"Hello, you must be Josh," she said, smiling up at him in welcome. "Please, come in. My husband very much wants to meet you."

And that was Josh's second shock, coming to him while he was still trying to recover from the first one. After all, he'd seen the Hacienda de Alegria from the hills, seen its beauty, the massive scope of it. There was money here, lots of it. He hadn't expected a room designed more for comfort than show. He certainly hadn't expected down-home people, a friendly greeting. Not when this footloose rodeo rider had come to call on the cherished daughter of that house.

"Josh Atkins," Senator Joe Colton said, rising from his chair and advancing toward Josh, his right hand held out in greeting. "I saw you ride in Tulsa a few years back. You took the bronc ride, and the overall that night, as I remember it. You sure can sit a horse, son. Welcome to our home."

Josh allowed his hand to be enveloped in Senator Colton's large paw, saying, "Thank you, sir. I didn't know you followed the rodeo."

"I follow a lot of things," Joe said, motioning toward a drinks table, wordlessly asking if Josh wanted anything to drink. Josh just shook his head.

"He does, you know," Meredith told him, patting the sofa cushion next to her, so that he knew he was expected to sit down, probably begin being grilled by one worried mama. "Joe is interested in just about everything. It certainly leaves few gaps in dinner table conversations. So, Emily said she met you in town. You're Toby Atkins's brother?"

Well, that was quick and to the point! "Yes, ma'am, I am."

"Your brother saved our daughter's life," Joe said, taking up his own seat across the coffee table. "This entire family is very deeply in your debt, son. That said, if there's ever anything we can do for you, anything at all, you just have to name it. You're family now, son, whether you like it or not, actually. Isn't that right, Meredith?"

"It's exactly right, darling," Meredith said, reaching over, patting Josh's hand.

"Thank you, Senator…ma'am," Josh said quietly.

"Joe," Joe said, "and I'll beat my wife to the punch on this one, and tell you to please call her Meredith. We're not much on formality around here. Now, are you sure you don't want that drink?"

Josh smiled, shaking his head. "Some ice water, Sen—Joe, if that's all right?"

"Coming right up," Joe said, heading for the drinks table once more. "Which is more than I can say for Emily, as memory serves. The only way to get her someplace on time is to tell her the movie starts at six, not seven. Then, if you're lucky, she'll be ready by six-thirty."

"Oh, good, and get my baby pictures out now, too, why don't you?" Emily said, walking into the room, her lovely face pulled up in a comical, self-deprecating grimace. "Or maybe the ones where I was wearing braces and had hideous pigtails. That ought to do it."

She continued walking toward the drinks table, kissed Joe's cheek and took the glass of ice water he'd just poured. "Hi, Josh," she said, approaching him as he stood up, pretty sure he should be standing if Emily wasn't sitting.

She looked great. Beyond great. She wore her hair down, that living waterfall of warm fire that fascinated him. She had on a bright blue sweatery-like thing that was all sort of soft and fuzzy, wearing it over a denim skirt that just about hit the tops of her knees.

It was the first time he'd seen her legs, and all he could remember was how they'd felt that morning, wrapped around him.

Josh ducked his head quickly, a sharp sort of nod, and said, "Hi, Emily. You look very nice."

Oh, that was cool. Real sophisticated. What the hell was the matter with him? He'd bedded this woman, for crying out loud. And it wasn't as if he hadn't dated, and very often bedded, more women than he could reasonably be expected to remember in his thirty-five years. So what was wrong with him? What the hell was wrong with him?

"Thank you. And you're about to sit on your hat," Emily told him laughingly as she sat down in the chair next to Joe's and Josh went to reclaim his seat on the couch.

Josh quickly righted himself before he could crush his Stetson, and then he just stood there, looking at the laughing Emily. Wanting to just eat her up…

"Joe?" Meredith said, rising from the couch. "Wasn't that the dinner bell I just heard ringing?"

Joe frowned, glanced down at his watch, looked confused. "The dinner bell? Now? No, I don't think—"

Meredith came around the coffee table and slipped her arm through the crook of her husband's elbow. "Well, I do," she said, maneuvering him toward the hallway leading to the dining room. "Josh, Emily," she called back over her shoulder, "have a nice dinner, you two."

Josh reached down and retrieved his Stetson as Emily stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Want to get going while the getting's good? There's a whole houseful more of Coltons who could be wandering in here at any moment."

Josh didn't have to be asked twice, and didn't really exhale comfortably until after he'd helped Emily up into the passenger side of his truck cab, then settled himself behind the wheel.

"I have no idea what just happened in there," he said, inserting the key in the ignition, then turning to look at Emily. "Do I look sixteen all of a sudden? Is there a humongous zit flashing neon red on the end of my nose? Am I speaking in complete sentences, without a lot of ums and ers and golly-gee-whizzes?"

Emily reached over and patted his arm. "Sort of overwhelming, aren't they? And that was only two of them. I'm used to it, grew up with it, and can't tell you how much happier and, well, warm the house is now that my real mother is back with us. But take Mom and Dad, multiply them by all the rest of the assorted Coltons—real, adopted and assimilated, as Mom calls it—and you can understand why I like my cave."

Josh started the truck, headed out of the drive toward the highway. "They're good people, they really are. I don't think I've been around many other people like them. I was welcomed, with both arms. No questions, no looking down their noses at the rodeo bum—nothing. They…knew about Toby, that he's—that he was my brother."

Emily nodded in the dark. "Yes, I told them this afternoon. I explained that you often find work on ranches when the rodeo circuit travels somewhere you don't want to go, and that we met in town, at the sporting goods store. They think it's all a happy coincidence."

"Thank you, Emily. I don't think I would have gotten such a friendly greeting if they'd known I came here purposely to stalk you."

"No, I suppose not," she said quietly, and Josh turned to look at her.

"What's wrong? Should I have kept my mouth shut about that stalking business? Oh, wait, I get it. I still haven't apologized for the way I was all over you that day down at the stables. That was mean, and low, and I am sorry, Emily. I was sorry the moment I opened my mouth."

"Thank you. I didn't realize I wanted to hear that until you said it. Remember, Silas Pike stalked me, too. So, yes, thank you. Are you hungry?"

"Truth? For a while there, before I met your parents, I believed I might never be able to eat again."

"And now?"

He grinned at her. "And now I'm starving. Do you know of any steak houses around here? I'm thinking in terms of a hunk of meat too big for the plate."

"And rare, of course, right? Big and juicy and rare on the inside, well done on the outside. Yum!" Emily snuggled against the bench seat, her fiery hair flowing over the collar of her coat. "I know just the place."

* * *

Did the man have any idea of the effect his smile had on women?

Emily did her best not to stare daggers into the back of "Hi, I'm Missy, and I'll be your server tonight," as the curvy blonde wiggled her way across the room to turn their order in to the kitchen. When Emily had asked to hear the specials for the night, Missy had immediately turned to Josh and recited them in a Marilyn Monroe-like breathy voice, as if listing her own body parts and their particular talents: "A pair of plump, juicy chicken breasts, spread on a bed of wild spiced rice, and accompanied by a basket of fresh, hot buns."

It was to gag, or so Emily decided, but when she realized that Josh was totally oblivious to Missy's culinary seduction, she just grinned up at the waitress, thanked her kindly and ordered the prime rib, rare enough to moo.

She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her cupped hands. "You have no idea what just went on here, do you?" she asked, marveling at Josh's composure as he sipped beer from a frosted mug.

"Huh? Oh, you mean Missy? The waitress? Sure, I knew. How old is she? Twelve? I'm thirty-five, Emily. I don't rob cradles."

Emily sat back in her chair. "I'm twenty."

Josh cocked his head to one side, grinned at her. "Really? Maybe I should have asked to see your drivers license?"

"Very funny—not. And Missy has to be at least twenty-one, or she wouldn't have been able to serve your beer."

This was silly, stupid. Why was she talking about the waitress, for crying out loud? Why was she telling Josh her age, almost daring him to tell her she was too young for him? Why was she picking a fight? Because that was what she was doing, wasn't it? Picking a fight?

"You know, Emily, if Missy had been orphaned, adopted, traumatized by a car accident that seemed to rob her of her mother, lived the next ten years in fear and confusion, thrice damn near been murdered by some hired killer, and had a good man die in her arms, well, maybe then I'd say she was old enough, mature enough. And I could be wrong, but I don't think our bubbly waitress has had anything more traumatic happen to her than losing a fake nail in someone's Caesar salad. You may be twenty, Emily, in years, but I think you've paid your dues. I think you're all grown up."

She blinked back quick tears, made herself busy rearranging the linen napkin on her lap. "And how old has life made you, Josh?" she asked quietly.

"Ninety. Sometimes six, or maybe fifteen. Or did you think I didn't know that?"

She looked up at him then, drawn by the sadness in his voice. "Are you still hungry?" she asked, wishing away the table that stood between them.

"Not at all," he told her, pulling several twenties from his pocket and laying them on the empty charger plate in front of him. "Let's get out of here."

He held her hand tightly as they left the restaurant, a bubble-gum chewing Missy watching, eyes wide, as they swept past her as she carried two salads to their table.

Emily giggled at the sight of the waitress, and was laughing in earnest by the time she and Josh had run across the parking lot to the pickup, his arm around her shoulders as they nearly staggered in their mirth.

She piled into the front seat, breathing hard, and waited for Josh to pull open the driver's side door, collapse against the seat before fishing in his pocket for his keys. She could see his face clearly in the lights hanging over the parking lot. "Where to?" he asked her, his piercing blue eyes looking straight into hers, straight through her.

"Don't ask me that," she said, suddenly serious. "Just do it, okay?"

He tossed his Stetson into the rear seat of the large cab of the pickup and turned the key in the ignition, tires squealing as he pulled out of the lot.

Five minutes later, Emily saw the neon sign of a motel, and the smaller, blinking Vacancy sign beneath it.

Ten minutes later, Josh was putting the key into A16.

A heartbeat later, Emily was lifted high in his arms, being carried over to the bed after he kick-slammed the door behind them.

How much better it was when they didn't talk. When there was no reason for words, nothing misunderstood about what they both wanted, what they both needed.

Emily surrendered to Josh's mouth, but only momentarily, before she became aggressive, deepened the kiss herself, until their tongues sought, and found, and dueled. She pushed him away from her, came up to her knees, so that he followed her, mimicked her actions.

Together, they undressed each other. Together, they ripped at the covers, pushing the bedspread to the floor, tugging down the tightly tucked sheets. Together, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, they fell against the bed.

He traced her skin with his strong, work-roughened hands, his mouth following where his hands had been, and Emily threw back her head, her throat tight, memorizing each sensation, each new high that he brought her to, took her past on the way higher, higher.

No longer a virgin, and damned if she'd just be a passive partner, Emily put her hands on Josh, her fingers spread as her palms made contact with his bare chest. What he did to her, she did to him, and when she felt the muscles over his belly tighten she knew he was feeling what she felt, traveling the same path she traveled.

Her hands went lower as he hovered above her, tantalizingly close, still maddeningly separate from her. She touched him, caressed the smoothness of him, silk over steel, and Josh moaned deep in his throat, pulled her on top of him, brought her close for his kiss.

"I thought this could happen again," he breathed against her ear, "and I'm prepared for it this time. But not if you keep touching me like that, Emily. I'm not that strong, not when you touch me."

Emily pushed herself away from him, so that she straddled his hips in the darkness, that darkness, and her desire, erasing the last of her inhibitions. "You mean like this?"

Josh growled, then took hold of her hips and gently pushed her back onto the bed. "You're a heartless woman, Emily Colton," he told her, reaching for his discarded jeans and the small packet in his front pocket. Moments later, his arms were around her once more, and he half lifted her so that she straddled him yet again in this new and exciting intimacy.

She braced her straightened arms on the bed on either side of his head, lifted herself up slightly, then lowered herself again, felt that still-new yet somehow familiar pressure, felt herself becoming one with Josh, a part of him, as he was a part of her.

Would always be a part of her.




Thirteen

Emily lay curled against him, one leg casually thrown over his, her fingers drawing small, tantalizing circles on his bare chest. Her head fit perfectly into the hollow below his shoulder, and her hair felt warm and silky against his skin.

Heaven in the Byde-A-Wee Motel.

Josh idly rubbed his hand up and down Emily's bare arm, pretty sure he'd just made another major mistake in his error-ridden life.

He had nothing to offer this woman. Nothing. And yet he'd taken, taken with both hands, and wanted nothing more than to take again…to hold her, love her, let her heal him.

"There's a rodeo near Phoenix next week," he said, hardly able to believe his own words. "I'm thinking of leaving my job and heading down there. Rollins knew it was only temporary, so there's no problem there."

He felt Emily stiffen inside the circle of his arm, and her hand went still, her palm laid flat against his chest. "Oh," she said, her voice small, hurt.

"Yeah." Josh shifted himself on the bed, pushing himself upward, so that he half leaned against the headboard, pulling her up beside him. "I haven't ridden the circuit since…well, you know. Time I was back at it. I've got sponsors who pay me some fairly nice bucks for wearing their gear, their logos. I've got contracts. I'm expected to make appearances, at least at the major rodeos."

"I see. And this is a major rodeo?"

"Semimajor," Josh told her. "I've been away too long, long enough for my aching muscles to not only heal, but grow soft. I really should get back in the action."

"Yes, I suppose so," Emily said dully. There was silence in the motel room for long moments, before she added, "When will you leave?"

Josh couldn't seem to do much in the way of forming complex sentences. "Pretty soon, I guess. It's a long drive."

Emily seemed similarly afflicted. "Yes, I suppose so. A long drive."

"I could probably stay a few more days," Josh heard himself say, mentally kicking himself for holding out hope—to him, or to Emily, he wasn't sure.

"That would be nice," she answered quietly. "Will you be back? Will…um…have you thought about coming back?"

His arm tightened around her and she lifted her head slightly, peered up into his eyes. "You know I shouldn't, Emily. We both know I shouldn't. Hell, I shouldn't be here now. You shouldn't be here now."

She pushed away from him, sitting up, and shoved her hair away from her eyes. "Why? Why shouldn't we be here, Josh?"

He sat up straighter, doing his best not to look at Emily as she sat there, her upper body exposed to him without shame, probably without notice. God, she was perfect. Everything he'd ever wanted, ever dreamed of, when he had dared to dream.

"You know why, Emily."

"Our ages? Is that it? I thought you said that wasn't a problem."

Now he did look at her, straight into her eyes. "You know it's not that. I—I just don't have the right." He struggled to find the right words. "We met for all the wrong reasons, and I'm a bastard for what I've done, for kissing you, for—"

Emily interrupted him with one word: "Toby." As if suddenly noticing her own nakedness, she reached down, pulled the sheet up and over her breasts. "That's it, isn't it, Josh? Toby."

He raked both hands through his hair, pressed his head back against the headboard. "Damn it, Emily, yes. Of course it's Toby. He loved you."

"I see," Emily said, drawing the sheet even closer. "And you don't. Yet you—you had me, and Toby never did. Tell me, Josh, was taking me to bed the way you decided to punish me, make me feel even more guilty?"

"No!" Josh sat up, took hold of Emily's upper arms. "God, no, Emily. I wanted you the moment I first saw you, and I kicked myself all the way back to Rollins Ranch that day, because I knew I wanted you. How could I do that? How could I betray Toby that way? Not once, but twice. And damn me, Emily, I'd do it again. That's the worst of it. I'd do it again."

"Take me home, Josh," Emily said, moving away from him, dragging the sheet with her, as if mortified by her unclothed state, embarrassed to let him see her—or perhaps feeling unclean wherever his eyes could see her. "Just take me home."

"Emily, I—" He reached for her, but she slipped away, began picking up her clothing before he could get untangled from the blanket. "Emily, for God's sake—"

"Oh, no," she said, whirling around to face him, her sweater and skirt clutched in her hands. "Not for God's sake, Josh. Not for Toby's sake, and most definitely not for mine. You took what you took, Josh, and you knew what you were taking, knew what I was giving. You knew."

Her virginity. She had to mean her virginity.

Josh reached onto the floor for his jeans, pulled them up hastily, then grabbed Emily's arm before she could disappear into the bathroom to get dressed.

"Let go," she said through clenched teeth.

"I can't, Emily," he said, pulling her into his arms. "I can't let it end this way."

Her body slumped against his, her head pressed into his shoulder. "But it has to end, right? Because of Toby."

He bent down to kiss the side of her throat, rubbed his hands up and down her back. "Because of Toby. He's dead, Emily, and the first thing I do is to move in on the woman he loved. What kind of brother does that make me? What kind of man?"

Emily pushed at Josh's chest, hard, so that he let her go, stepped back to see the fury in her eyes. "I don't get you, Josh, I just don't get you. First you come here to make me feel guilty about Toby, and now it's like you believe you should turn me into some vestal virgin or something, forever untouched in memory of your brother. I loved Toby, he was a fine, fine man. But if you're building a shrine to him, Josh, don't try to make me into one of the statues!"

The bathroom door slammed behind her, and Josh slowly walked over to the bed, sat down on the edge, dropped his head forward into his hands.

She was right. Emily was right. The world hadn't stopped when Toby died. Just his world, and Josh's world.

Emily would love someday, be loved again someday. She'd marry, have children of her own—all of that possible because Toby had given his life to protect her, to make sure she had that "someday."

But not him. That man, the man she made that new life with, couldn't be him.

The bathroom door opened once more, slamming back against the wall, and Emily stormed into the room, her burnished curls wild around her head, her slim body tensed, ready to go on the attack.

"And another thing, Josh Atkins," she said, walking toward him, pointing a finger into his face. "Tell me what would have happened if Silas Pike had never found me and you'd come to visit Toby in Keyhole while I was still there. What if you'd looked at me then, and wanted me, as you said you wanted me? Would you have walked away because Toby loved me, knowing I didn't love him? Well? Would you?"

He looked at her for long moments, biting back the word no that had so quickly leapt into his mind. No, I wouldn't have walked away. Not if you wanted me, too. Because you were never right for Toby. You're right for me. Even as I'm so very wrong for you.

Josh stood up slowly, reached for his jacket. "I'll take you home now, Emily."