by Teresa Hill
"Emma!" Joe rapped on the door even harder.
"Let him in before he knocks down the door."
Rye brushed his hair down as best he could and grabbed the afghan and the pillows off the floor. Emma tried to smooth down her own hair and wished she didn't look and feel so rumpled.
She pulled open the front door and smiled up at Joe. "Hi."
He frowned. "You okay?"
Her cheeks were flushed, and she wondered how that might blend in with her bruise this morning. Hoping for the best, she angled her head to the right and didn't bother turning on the light in the hallway. It was light enough outside to make do.
"I'm fine," she said.
Joe looked around at what he could see of the room. "Sam still gone?"
"Yes."
"I need to come in, Emma."
"Oh, sure. Sorry. Please, come in."
She stepped back and gave him some room, then shut the door behind him. When she turned around, the sheriff was staring into the living room at Rye, who did indeed have that rumpled, straight-out-of-bed look to him. Oh, well. What did it matter? Nothing happened. She'd tell Sam, and he'd believe her. No big deal.
Except for the way Rye and Joe Mitchell were sizing each other up. She sensed trouble and hurried to get between them.
"Joe, this is Rye... John Ryan, actually. But he goes by Rye. Rye, this is Joe Mitchell, the sheriff."
They stood their ground, nodding in each other's direction.
"Sure you're all right?" Joe asked, as if he might need to rescue her from Rye.
"Yes."
"Someone came to see me about a problem here yesterday," he said, not taking his gaze off Rye. "You and I need to talk, Emma, and then I suspect I'll need to talk to your friend."
"Of course. Why don't we all go into the kitchen. I'll make some coffee."
"Okay," Joe agreed.
She went first, the men parading behind her, no letup that she could see in the open hostilities. She made Joe sit on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, Rye, too, and then dared turn her back to them to start a pot of coffee. She was going to have to tell Joe everything. She could see that from how worried he was and how suspicious he was of Rye.
"Which one of the neighbors called?" she asked, keeping her back to them as she filled the coffeepot with water. "Mrs. Wells?"
"The neighbors saw this?" Joe asked.
"Heard it, at least," Emma said. "I'm not sure if they actually saw it."
"Which ones? I might need to talk to them, too," Joe said.
Emma turned around, still not getting it. Rye looked just about as angry as he had been when Mark showed up. "What's going on?"
"Your ex filed a complaint," Rye said, then looked at Joe. "Right?"
Joe nodded. "He claims your friend tried to kill him."
"What?" Emma was so mad, she was sputtering.
"That's what he said."
"Are we going to talk about it first?" Rye said, in a voice she scarcely recognized. "Or do you want to go ahead and arrest me now?"
"I thought we'd talk first," Joe said.
Rye just nodded and eased back on his chair, looking not at all surprised.
Emma was outraged. "That snake! That dirty, rotten snake. I can't believe he'd do that."
"He claims he's your boyfriend," Joe said.
"Not anymore. Not since..." She faltered then. Damn.
"Emma," Rye said. "We talked about this. I'm sorry, but he's got to know, so he'll watch out for you."
"Know what?" Joe asked.
Emma sat down and closed her eyes. It was as hard as she'd imagined it would be. "He hit me."
"Your ex-boyfriend?" Joe asked.
"Yes. We met at school this fall, and we've been going out. As Christmas break started, we got into a fight. He hit me, and I came running back here."
"Hit you?" Joe asked. "How? I need to know, Emma. Tell me exactly what happened."
"He slapped me."
"He hit her hard enough to knock her down," Rye said. "Come over here in the light and show him the other side of your face, Emma."
She'd done her best to stay on Joe's right side, to hide the bruise from him. But she couldn't anymore. Rye flipped on the bright light that hung over the serving bar in the kitchen, and she showed off her bruise to Joe.
He swore and asked, "Anything else?"
"No," Emma said.
"Yes," Rye insisted at the same time. "I suspect there's some bruising on her arms where he grabbed her. And her ribs are sore. What did he do? Kick you while you were down, Em?"
Shame had her cheeks burning all the more. Oh, she hated this.
She finally lifted her head to look at Rye. "Sorry," he mouthed. "He needs to know."
She looked away again. "Yes, that's what happened."
"That's all? You're sure?"
"Isn't that enough?" Rye asked.
"Just want to get it straight," Joe said, pulling a small notebook out of his pocket and reaching for a pen. "Did you file a complaint there?"
"No," she said.
"Emma—"
"I know. I know, okay? I just wanted to come home."
Joe had started to write, but he gave up and said, "Sam left, after hearing this?"
"She didn't tell him," Rye said.
Emma glared at him. Joe scratched his head and frowned at her.
"Why the hell not?" he asked.
"I don't know, Joe. Why don't women complain about things like this? You tell me. I bet you've heard it all over the years."
"Not from you," he said.
Rye jumped in at that. "Hey. She's had a hard time, okay? She's doing the best she can."
"I know that. I just..." Joe swore once again, his voice trailing off.
Emma put her hand on Rye's arm, to let her know she didn't need him defending her at this moment. "Rye, he didn't mean it like that. Joe and I go way back, too. He was a deputy here when my mother left me and my brother and sister in a motel on the edge of town. He helped arrest my father, in fact."
"Shit," Rye said.
"Yeah, that's about the size of it," Joe agreed.
"I'm sorry, Joe." Emma sat down, feeling older by the minute and very, very tired. "I should have reported it. I should know better. But I guess I was embarrassed."
"Emma, you didn't do anything wrong," Joe began.
"So I've been told." She glanced over at Rye.
"Okay, so the two of you got into a fight, and he hit you, and you came back here." Joe started scribbling again. "Then what?"
"He's been calling her," Rye said. "And scaring her."
"When?"
"Ever since I got back here. He called the first day and acted like this was a silly misunderstanding. Can you believe that?"
"Yeah. It's what guys like him do," Joe said. "Manipulate, intimidate, isolate, somehow convince a woman everything's her fault. Don't fall into his trap of thinking you're the one with the problem. He is."
"Thanks," Emma said.
"Okay, so he's been calling, and you told him... What?"
"To stop. That I didn't want to talk to him. That I wanted him to leave me alone. But he wouldn't."
"Well." Joe sat back and considered. "I'd say put a block on the phone number, but he'd just call from a different one."
"I know," she said. "And it's no telling where he is now."
"A motel just across the county line in Wilmont. At least, that's what he told me this morning when he came to see me." Joe looked utterly disgusted. "So, he called, and when that didn't work he just showed up here?"
"Yes. Yesterday. Rye and I had been out. We were about to come inside and there he was, standing on the lawn yelling at me."
"Did he threaten you?"
"I... I don't know exactly. He scared me."
"Did he have a weapon?"
"Not that we saw," Rye said, coming to stand beside Emma. She eased into his side, his arm coming around her.
"Tell me exactly what happened, Emma."
"He was ma
d and yelling. I told him again—or Rye told him for me—and then I told him—that I didn't want to see him anymore, and then..."
"And then your friend nearly strangled him?" Joe asked.
"It wasn't like that," Emma insisted.
"What was it like? Tell me?"
"Rye was standing between us, and when Mark tried to grab me—"
"I grabbed him," Rye said. "Shoved him up against the side of the house and pinned him there with my forearm against his throat."
Joe just looked at him, seeming to take the measure of the man. Rye didn't sugarcoat it at all, and he didn't look particularly sorry. In fact, he looked like he was daring Joe to make something of it, maybe expecting it.
"That's it," Emma said. "That's what happened. Exactly like that."
"Did you threaten to kill him?" Joe asked Rye.
"No."
"He said you did."
"I said I wasn't going to kill him. Not this time. But that if he ever tried to hurt Emma again, he'd answer to me. Now, if you want to call that a threat, then yeah, I threatened him. What am I supposed to do? Stand by and watch him hurt her?"
"No," Joe said. "I wouldn't ask anybody to do that. But..."
"Yeah, I know. He said I attacked him. He's got the bruises to prove it."
"Well, so do I," Emma said.
"He came to me and complained Emma, which I wish you'd done."
"So, because he went running to you first, Rye's in trouble?"
"Look," Joe said. "I got a complaint. I had to follow up on it. Obviously, I didn't have the whole story from Mr. Jacobson."
"So, now what?"
"I'll tell him what I've learned. I'm assuming if he intends to press charges against your friend—"
Rye stiffened. Emma said, "You can't let him do that."
"Wait a minute," Joe said. "If that's what Jacobson wants to do, I'm assuming you'll be interested in pressing charges against him?"
"Yes, I will."
"Okay. We'll see what he says. I suspect he'll yell and call me a few names, and then he'll back down. We could forget this whole thing then. But if you want Mark arrested, I'll do it. I'll arrest them both, and they can both tell their stories to Judge Williams. Your choice, Emma."
"I don't want anybody arrested," she said.
"Emma, think about this," Rye began, looking more serious than she'd ever seen him. "This guy's scared you, and he's hurt you, and we don't know what he's going to do next."
"I'm not letting you end up in jail for trying to protect me," she said.
"I can take care of myself," he insisted.
"And I can't?"
"That's not what I meant," Rye said. "He's bigger than you, and stronger than you, and a whole lot meaner. He needs to go to jail, but I suspect if the sheriff arrested us both, he'd get out a hell of a lot faster than I would, and then you'd be here alone. And that worries me."
"Because I can't be trusted to take care of myself?"
"Let me lock him, up, Emma," Joe began. "I'll put the fear of God in him while I've got him."
"Oh, please. Think about my father. You know how many times he got thrown in jail. It's not like it did any good in the end."
"I know," Joe said. "I'm sorry."
She'd heard all about it. Her mother hadn't been willing to press charges, but her father's next girlfriend had, several times. He never stayed in jail for long, and it just seemed to make him madder. She couldn't see having Mark thrown in jail helping her situation.
"I just want this to be over," she said.
"I know." Joe got to his feet. "I'll do anything I can to help. I'll talk to Jacobson, tell him what I think of men who hit women. Maybe that'll be enough, and he'll pack up and leave. I'll call the clerk at the motel tonight to see. If he stays... When's Sam coming home?"
"I don't know."
"He's going to hear about this sooner or later," Joe said. "If Mrs. Wells heard this, you know he's going to find out."
"I know. I just..."
"Emma, he's your father. This is what fathers do. If anything happened to you, and he wasn't here to protect you..."
"I know."
"All right. I'm going to see if I can run my friend Mr. Jacobson out of town. I'll tell him we're recording all your incoming calls, in case he has any ideas about calling again, and it's not a bad idea to do that. You can buy a little machine at almost any electronics store."
"We'll get one," Rye said.
"Okay. I'll tell the guy if I find him anywhere near your house again, he'll answer to me." Joe looked at Rye when he said that last part. "In the meantime," he looked back at Emma, "you gonna be all right?"
She nodded. "Rye's staying here."
Joe looked worried again. It seemed the sleeping arrangements hadn't escaped his notice.
"I told Sam I'd broken up with Mark and that he wasn't taking it well, and Sam made me promise not to stay here alone," she explained.
"Okay." Joe looked to Rye once again. "Why don't you walk me out, and we'll have a little talk."
* * *
Rye was surprised he wasn't already in handcuffs on his way to jail. He had no doubt he'd left marks on the little weasel's neck, and he could just imagine the story the guy told.
He got to his feet to head outside. Emma started to protest, but he stopped that. "Let it go, Emma. I'll talk to the man."
Rye grabbed his jacket off a hook by the door, and they stepped outside onto the porch. Joe Mitchell looked him up one side and down the other.
He figured he had about a fifty-fifty chance the sheriff would run his name through the department's computer and pull up his record. Once that happened, the sheriff would either be on the phone to Sam or heading over here with his siren blazing, worried about what Rye might have done to Emma. And probably rethinking everything about that mess with Emma's ex-boyfriend.
Rye kept thinking about that safe, uncomplicated existence of his, the one he was blowing all to hell. But there was Emma to think about. No way was he leaving her now.
"So"—Rye palmed his hip pocket reaching for his wallet—"what do you want? Full name? Address? Social security number? Driver's license number?"
"What is that going to find me?" Joe asked.
"Everything you need to know about me."
"Social security number works for me. And an address."
Rye slid the wallet back into place and gave the information. "That's it?"
Joe shrugged. "You want me to arrest you?"
"Not particularly. I'm just surprised."
"The guy had some holes in his story. He tried to tell me how much Emma means to him, but to hear him tell it, he was attacked for no reason by a half-crazy man who scared him to death, then left her here all night with the guy while he got a good night's sleep. Then he came to my office this morning to report it. It didn't seem like the kind of thing a guy does to his girlfriend."
"I wouldn't," Rye said, more relieved than he could say. "You going to call Sam and tell him what's going on here?"
"Maybe," Joe said.
"And if you do that, he'll be back here? He'll take care of her?"
Joe nodded.
"Okay," Rye said.
One way or the other, whether Rye was here or not, she'd be okay.
Chapter 8
Emma stood in the front hall under the little window of beveled glass, the one that made the pretty designs that danced across the floor as the sun moved from east to west every day.
Grace used to chase those sparkles of light. She used to dance inside of them. She'd pat them with her little baby hands and try to capture them in her fists. It had been the source of endless fascination, like a little touch of magic inside this house.
For the longest time, Emma had honestly believed nothing could ever hurt her as long as she was within these walls and the people here were safe. And now she'd brought trouble to the front door.
She couldn't believe the mess she'd made of things.
It was like she'd taken one wrong step
and sent her life into a downward spiral, sinking faster and faster. It was no telling what Mark would do next. Everything was so crazy.
And yet Rye was here. Rye who was so reluctant to be here, so troubled by something, and yet had been so wonderful to her last night, so sexy.
He came back inside, looking grim after his little conversation on the porch with the sheriff.
"I'm so sorry," she said. What he must think of her... "I dragged you into this whole mess."
"Emma, I showed up at your front door." He shrugged out of his coat.
"And walked into the middle of this."
"The way I remember it," he said, hanging up the coat, "I came here quite willingly, and I sure wouldn't want you going through this alone."
Which was about the nicest thing he could have said to her at the moment. It brought tears to her eyes. "I wouldn't have wished this kind of trouble on anyone."
"Hey." He shrugged, facing her again. "I can handle a little trouble."
"Like having the sheriff want to arrest you?"
"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened."
"Oh, right." He was just trying to make her feel better, as he always did.
"Emma, I've been taking care of myself for a long time."
"Still—"
"Enough." He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "Let's talk about you. You know what you have to do, don't you?"
She nodded. "I have to call Sam."
"Now would be a really good time."
"What am I going to tell him?"
"To get the hell home. Surely you don't have any doubts about the fact that you have to do that now."
"No... It's just..."
"What?"
"It's not because of me. Because of you. You and Sam."
"Emma..." He turned away and stared up at the ceiling. He was dangerously close to the front door, if he wanted to take off. Not that she'd let him. Not now. But what in the world was he running from?
"How can you not want to tell him?" she asked.
"Tell him what?"
"Rye, this is me. I've told you the worst parts of my life. You've had a front-row seat for a performance of the Stupidest Things Emma's Ever Done."
"We've been over this," he reminded her, facing her again. "This was not your fault. The guy is nuts."
"And I went out with him for months."