by Nika Dixon
A featherlight sense of familiarity made her question if they’d once met somewhere, but that was impossible. Before she could think on it further, Doc bumped her out of her safety spot in the doorway with a gentle prod. Her exposed position gave her a clearer view of the rest of the waiting room, and the second man standing between her and the front door.
Uniform. Badge. Gun.
Her heart skittered into a rapid-fire pounding. Seven days of freedom-built hope turned her legs to jelly. She’d done everything she could to get away, but it hadn’t been enough.
If the police had found her…so had Alan.
She waited for the sheriff’s demand that she come with him. The blue-eyed lawman just flashed her a boyish grin she supposed was either to hide his true intentions or lull her into the trap of trusting him.
Not a chance.
She had long ago learned never to let a handsome smile decide what level of faith to give anyone.
“Boys,” Doc said, “I’d like you to meet Miss Emma Leen. Emma, these are the Boyer boys. They’re the ones who found you.”
She glanced back and forth between the two men. Once she’d calmed her panic that one brother was sheriff, she was able to spot the family connection in the matching angles of their jawlines and brows. But that was as far as the genetic similarities seemed to show.
Alan’s voice whispered through her mind, describing the two men like the fighters he loved to gamble on. The cowboy was taller by a few inches with a fighter’s form—lean but solid. He would outthink and outlast others through sheer willpower and stubborn pride. By contrast, the sheriff was brawny—a powerhouse who would push through any blockade. Alan would easily put his money on either one.
She pushed the disembodied voice back into the darkness. What he thought didn’t matter anymore. It was what she thought that was important now. And with the way the two men were watching her, she wouldn’t have bet against either one.
She tried to smile but couldn’t muster any emotion other than the one screaming for her to run away. Since escape was not an option with the sheriff between her and the exit, she forced herself to slow her breathing. She’d had years of practice at hiding her fear. This situation was no different. She had lulled Alan into believing she was nothing more than a stupid girl with a special talent. She could do the same here.
The jingling chime of a phone made her jump.
Doc patted her shoulder before heading toward the back of the house. “I’ll be right back. Sheriff, I’ll leave you to the introductions.”
Alone with the two men, she danced her weight from one foot to the other, sliding in the too-big shoes.
The sheriff stuck out his hand. “Danny Boyer, sheriff of Absolution, at your service.”
She hesitated, wondering if it was some kind of trick. Was he going to snap a set of handcuffs on her like they did in the movies? When he made no other movement toward her, she shook his hand once then snatched her fingers back.
He tipped his head at the cowboy. “This is my brother, Marshall.”
Her hand was reaching for the cowboy’s before she could question the naturalness of the action. At the instant of contact, her palm tingled. Back was the strange sense of déjà vu. She knew him somehow, yet she didn’t. She tried to decipher his unsmiling expression, but the only thing she could read in his eyes was curiosity.
Curiosity was a danger, but as long as there wasn’t recognition, she could handle it. She wasn’t planning on staying long enough for one to turn into the other.
With a twinge of regret, she slowly slipped her fingers free. Despite the fact he was looking only at her eyes, she had the distinct impression he was taking in everything about her. Perhaps the lawman wasn’t the brother she needed to be worried about.
Nervous beneath the cowboy’s studying gaze, she picked at the drooping sleeve of the oversize sundress and tugged it back up onto her shoulder, her fingers trembling.
“How’s the head?” the sheriff asked.
She caught herself before she touched the lump. “A little sore.”
“Doc says you don’t remember what happened.”
The disbelief dripping off his words had her stepping backward. “No, sir.”
“I’m afraid we couldn’t find your purse,” he continued.
She was about to admit she didn’t have a purse when it occurred to her he wasn’t really asking about the handbag. He wanted to know about her identification.
A tiny shudder bounced down through her shoulder blades. What would his response be if she told him she didn’t have any? Wallets required credit cards, and purses required belongings, neither of which Alan ever let her have.
“I…I lost it.” She cleared her throat and swallowed down the lie. The doctor said she’d driven into a river. Did purses float? She prayed there was even a tiny chance the water could have carried it off if she’d had one. “In the river, maybe?”
He shrugged, then nodded. “I’ll have someone look for it in the morning. I’m sure once you get to where you’re going you can have it all replaced.”
“Replaced. Um, yes. Of course. I will.” That was what a normal person would do. A normal person would be concerned about losing a purse.
“Did you know the car was stolen?” he asked, his eyebrow arching up.
Stolen?
The paper bag crumpled in her clutch. Was that how Alan was going to do it? He couldn’t get here in time, so he was going to have her arrested and locked up until he could?
She couldn’t catch her breath well enough even to stammer out an answer.
The sheriff cracked a grin and shook his head. “No mind. We’re pretty sure Georgie thought she was just borrowing the car. It’s not the first time she’s done it.”
Taken aback by the friendly smile so soon after he’d all but accused her of stealing a car, she pressed her hand over her racing heart. “It…it really was stolen?”
“Wouldn’t have said so if it wasn’t.”
If it really was stolen, then it was a misunderstanding. No way a nice old lady like Georgie would take someone’s car. Although…it was a little odd that Georgie had been sitting at the bus stop when they first met, and it was only after deciding Emma needed a ride did she come back with a car.
“All right, all set,” the doctor called out, reappearing from the back of the house. “Maggie’s waiting for you with a bowl of her homemade stew and corn biscuits. Doctor’s orders.”
Emma nearly cried with relief at having the older man back beside her. So much so, she nearly missed his comment about someone waiting for her. “Maggie? Who’s Maggie?”
“Best home cookin’ in the state, guaranteed,” he said with a nod. “I’m sure the boys here will be more than happy to get you there safely. Isn’t that right, boys?”
She balked at the offer, twisting her head in a jerking shake as she was herded toward the front door. There was no way she wanted to spend any more time with the sheriff, or meet anyone named Maggie, even if it involved food.
But the three men weren’t giving her an option.
She stepped out onto the porch. It would be foolish to protest any more than she already had. Too much complaining would just bring more attention. She needed to stick with the plan—keep quiet, wait for an opening, then run.
“Shall we?” The sheriff pointed to a white pickup parked in front of the house.
Accompanying the lawman and the cowboy to the truck, she prayed she wasn’t making yet another deadly mistake. She couldn’t trust them, but for the moment, she had no choice but to go with them.
Chapter Five
For the first time in over a year, Marshall wished the town of Absolution was a little bit bigger. The drive to the narrow strip of businesses the town called Main Street was too short. There hadn’t been nearly enough time to analyze the lady in the back seat before they reached their destination.
His interest was pure curiosity—a momentary distraction not worth his concentration—yet at the same time,
he couldn’t stop glancing at her whenever she spoke. Every word was pronounced with perfect elocution, no slur or slang or drawl. She was obviously highly educated, most likely the result of an expensive stint at some fancy big-city university. Even the way she sat oozed proper posture and poise, with her knees together and her hands resting in her lap. Certainly not the casual leg-spread flop most people went with when riding around in a pickup truck.
Danny was doing his best to ask as much as he could in the short travel time, but their passenger’s answers weren’t much for detail. It was like playing twenty questions when you had no idea what the category was supposed to be. Not that she wasn’t forthcoming. She replied to everything she was asked, though the tales of her travels contained no real facts. By the time they reached the diner, all they’d managed to get from the gal with the gold-green eyes was that she had come from the east, was headed west, and had lost all her belongings.
When the truck stopped, he hopped out to open the rear door for her. The second her fingers slipped across his palm, a current of awareness shot through him. Before he could think on it further, she was out of the truck and in control of her hand once again.
She moved around him with a skittish sidestep, fighting with the shoulders of the swamping dress Doc had loaned her. The thing was as big as a housecoat on her, but better than being wet and muddy, he supposed.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and looked up and down the street.
He tried to see things as a city girl would—a tiny two-block town the modern world had left behind. Folks here still shopped at the general store. The library and the post office shared the same building, and the grain and feed doubled as the hardware store. Cell phones barely worked until you got closer to the interstate, and public internet access was restricted to the city services building. There were no extras, no fancies, and if you couldn’t find it in town, you probably didn’t really need it, anyway.
This time of night the street was empty. The only buildings with lights still on were the police station up the block and Bobby’s garage on the opposite side. Everything else was closed until they opened for business in the morning.
Michelle had had a fondness for referring to Absolution as quaint, even though the look on her face had never quite agreed with the cuteness of her word. He half expected Emma to have a similarly condemning response to his hometown, but when she turned back around, she looked more relieved than disappointed.
Danny took a step across the sidewalk and opened the closest door. A single bell chimed overhead. “In we go.”
Emma stepped under the overhang then stopped so suddenly Marshall had to take a step back to keep from running her over. The inside of the small diner was empty, but that wasn’t a surprise since it was well after closing time. It was a little darker than usual, what with only the lights over the counter being on, but otherwise it was no different than it always was.
She’d probably expected something fancier, with tablecloths and a pretentious woman to tell them they needed a reservation or they couldn’t get in.
“Something wrong?” Danny asked.
“I thought Maggie was a person.”
“She is. And this is her place.”
“But it’s a restaurant.”
“And that’s bad?”
Emma dropped her gaze to the ground. The paper back in her hand crinkled as she squeezed it against her stomach. “I don’t have any money.”
Marshall felt a flicker of guilt at thinking she wouldn’t want to eat there because it wasn’t fancy enough, but the emotion quickly switched to annoyance. City folks always assumed you couldn’t do anything without having the dollars to make it happen. The concept of someone being kind enough to offer food without asking for something in return was considered being a good neighbor in these parts. Obviously, she wasn’t used to that kind of thinking.
“Don’t you dare mention money to Maggie,” Danny said quietly. “She’ll tan all our hides if she thinks you’re trying to pay.”
Emma looked in through the door then glanced over her shoulder at Marshall.
“It’s a small-town thing,” he told her, regurgitating the same explanation he would always give Michelle whenever she failed to grasp the way things were done in Absolution.
“Oh,” Emma whispered, biting her lip. “Okay.”
She turned her face away, but not before a bright flush crept into her cheeks.
Danny glared at him over her head.
Marshall glared back.
Okay, fine, maybe he deserved the look. He’d clearly embarrassed her. Unnecessarily.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” Danny said, waving his hand toward the tables.
Holding the paper bag in front of her like a rumpled shield, she took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Chapter Six
The cool surface of the tile floor soothed Emma’s bare toes, easing her embarrassment over offending her escorts by presuming to need to money to pay for her meal. She vowed to be more careful, starting with waiting patiently until the hostess came to seat them.
Fine dining was one of Alan’s few weaknesses. He would hire top chefs for all his business dinners. On rare occasions, he would allow Emma the escape of going along with him, even if it was just to the restaurant in the lobby of the building. She always jumped at the chance to get out into the real world, but the meals were always so stressful, what with their expensive clientele staring at her and her looming bodyguards, and all the rules she had to follow.
The posh, invitation-only restaurants that Alan chose always gave her the sense that she was unworthy even to stand in the lobby. But this tiny diner with its uncovered tables and faded tile floor called out to her with calm invitation. It was the first time she could remember wanting to go forward.
“Grab a seat, boys,” a woman’s voice called out from the back. “Coffee’s fresh.”
The sheriff took the invitation and headed straight in behind the counter, where he helped himself to a mug of coffee.
Remaining at her side, Marshall gave her the choice of seating. “Booth or counter?”
She chose the red-topped round stools that ran the length of the counter. She had to catch herself when the seat twisted sharply to the right. It took her a moment to grasp the stool wasn’t broken—it was designed that way. Biting back a surprised smile, she wiggled her hips, rotating the spinning stool to the right and the left.
Marshall frowned at the floor beneath her. “Where are your shoes?”
She froze mid-rotation and mashed her bare toes against the cold steel bar supporting the stool. Shoes. Of course. She’d completely forgotten the doctor had given her some to wear. She glanced over her shoulder through the restaurant’s windows to the white truck parked out front.
Without comment he headed outside. She glanced at the sheriff, who was drinking his coffee and staring at her.
Marshall returned with the shoes.
“Thank you.” She pulled them on, curling her toes to remind herself to keep them on her feet.
A portly middle-aged woman emerged from the kitchen. She carried a large bowl in one hand and a small wicker basket in the other. She set the items on the counter in front of Emma, her brown eyes crinkling with amusement. “Since I already know these troublemakers,” she said with a kind smile, “I’m guessing you must be Emma. I’m Maggie.”
A delicious scent of vegetables and spices drifted up to Emma’s nose. Her stomach tensed in anticipation. But it was manners first, food second. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maggie,” she answered, extending her hand.
The hostess laughed at the gesture then gripped Emma’s fingers in a firm handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Emma. Doc said he was sending over a young woman in need of a good, strong meal. Well, my stew is about as hearty as it gets.” She unfolded the corners of the napkin-covered basket to reveal a pile of golden-topped biscuits. “Can’t have the stew without the biscuits.”
Marshall dropped o
nto the stool to Emma’s right. He leaned on the counter and reached toward the basket.
Maggie slapped his hand. “I don’t recall Doc asking me to feed you, too, Marshall Boyer.” She set a spoon on the counter next to Emma’s bowl. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony. Eat up.”
Self-conscious at being the only one eating, Emma picked up the spoon and took a delicate bite.
It was heavenly! The spicy mix of meat, potatoes, vegetables, and whatever else was in there was incredible. She finished the bowl and two biscuits without pause. The fact that her last meal had been a terribly dry and pasty vending-machine ham-and-cheese sandwich didn’t play into her thoughts until she looked up from the empty dish to find three sets of eyes watching her with a mix of incredulity and concern.
She nearly dropped the spoon.
She stared at the scraped pattern of the remnants of gravy left in the bottom of the bowl. Her eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, holding on to her rising fear. She had stuffed an entire bowl of stew into her mouth like it was her last meal on earth. There was no way the sheriff wasn’t going to know there was something horribly wrong with her now.
She set the spoon beside the bowl with such care it didn’t make a sound. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to focus. How was she going to explain? She didn’t think the cowboy would say anything, but losing her marbles in front of the sheriff would be a bad idea.
Someone cleared their throat.
She peered at her hostess through her fallen bangs.
Maggie leaned forward, blocking the sheriff’s view. “Can I get you another bowl, dear?” she asked, her smile warm and caring.
Emma bit her lip so she couldn’t agree. “No, that was perfect, thank you.”