by Lori Foster
The town's small hospital, Buckhorn Memorial, was efficient and well run, but it wasn't equipped for anything life or death. She'd been reassured when she found out her father was staying there, rather than at one of the larger neighboring hospitals in the next city. It told her that a full recovery was expected.
Still, the idea of seeing him left her nervous, anxious and wary. She'd spoken to him regularly over the years, but because of how they'd parted, the mutual ruse they'd pulled off, their conversations always felt superficial. Despite everything, despite how she'd left him – how he'd helped her to leave – Emma knew he loved her.
Just not enough.
"All right." Putting off going wouldn't make it easier. She'd made her decision and now she'd follow through "I won't be long."
Casey watched her as she riffled through her suitcase to locate a sundress, panties and sandals. The dress, a fitted chambray sheath with embroidered scallop edging, was casual and cool enough for the summer sun, but also dressy enough for the hospital. It always packed well, but the white cotton blouse she'd brought along as a jacket was wrinkled. Hopefully the steam from her shower would help. As she headed for the bathroom, Casey stretched out on the bed with B.B., propping his back on the headboard and reaching for the only phone, situated on the nightstand.
Emma's mouth went dry, not only because he was in her bed, where she'd slept, and he looked right at home there. But because B.B. rolled to his back and waited for Casey to scratch his chest – and Casey did, as if they'd been longtime friends. B.B. was always polite unless provoked, but he didn't warm up to strangers easily. Yet he already treated Casey like a pal.
Emma sighed and went on into the bathroom before she did something stupid, like join Casey on the bed. She felt melancholy, and with good reason. Like her, it seemed her dog had a fondness for Buckhorn's golden son. Well, they'd both just have to get over it, because once her business was finished in Buckhorn, Emma fully intended to return to her old life, the life where she'd found contentment.
Her life – without Casey Hudson.
OF COURSE, Gabe agreed to help out, just as Casey had known he would. He hadn't yet told his uncle who he was helping, just a lady friend. Casey wondered if Gabe would recognize Emma. The others had known her better. His father because of Emma's trip to their house. His Uncle Morgan because, as sheriff, he'd had occasion to check up on Emma for skipping school and breaking curfew. And his Uncle Jordan would probably recall her from the hospital, the night Georgia's mother had taken ill and he and Emma had dropped in to help out. Granted, Jordan had been mightily distracted with Georgia and her two children. Casey was convinced that Jordan had fallen in love with Georgia that night. But he'd surely at least noticed Emma.
His youngest uncle, Gabe, had only met her a few times, interspersed with all the other girls that Casey had dated. Casey didn't want any of his relatives looking at him with speculation, wondering about his feelings. It was better that Gabe be the only one to know about Emma. At least for now.
Still idly rubbing the dog's neck, Casey listened as B.B.'s breathing drifted into a doggy snore. He grinned. B.B. was a beautiful, well-groomed, healthy animal, testament to the care Emma had given him. He obviously had a regular sleeping spot in the bed, too.
Lucky dog.
Casey wouldn't have minded a little of Emma's care directed his way, yet she seemed determined to keep their involvement platonic. He'd have her alone this afternoon and he'd begin working on her.
Knowing Gabe would be there soon, Casey got up to stroll the room, peeking out the window to the parking lot every so often. As he paced, he noted Emma's open suitcase, stuffed mostly with casual clothes. He also saw her bra on the only chair in the room, strung over the arm. He stopped to stare, impressed with her feminine choice.
He absolutely loved lingerie, the sexier the better. The discarded bra, likely removed the night before, appealed in a big way. Made of ice-blue transparent lace, it looked sheer, but had an underwire. The reason she would require an underwire tormented his libido with visions of her full breasts free, or held only by his hands. Casey picked up the bra, rubbing the delicate material between his fingers.
"That surely has to be illegal."
Disgusted at being caught, Casey dropped the bra and turned to face Damon Devaughn. "What's that?"
"Molesting a woman's clothing." Devaughn lazily moved into the room, propped his hip on the dresser and crossed his ankles. He wore pressed tan chinos, a black designer polo and casual loafers. "Does Emma know that you have these kinky tendencies?"
Casey narrowed his eyes. Around Emma, Damon acted casual but proprietary, intimate yet not sexual. Casey couldn't quite figure him out. Then he decided what the hell? and just blurted out his biggest question. "Are you gay?"
Damon blinked at him and a smile twitched on his mouth. Somewhat demure, he said, "Why do you ask?"
Stumped as to how to reply, Casey scowled. "It seemed pertinent to the situation."
"Ah, let me guess. It's my fashion sense, isn't it?" He smoothed his hands over his shirt. "No? My neatly trimmed hair?"
When Casey didn't bother to reply, Damon's eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Casey couldn't help but notice that muscles bulged. He didn't understand Devaughn, but he had to admit that the man was no wimp.
"Or," Damon asked, dragging out the word until Casey wanted to throttle him, "is it because I like Emma, even though I'm not screwing her?"
Casey took an aggressive step forward before he could stop himself. He felt like smashing Damon and wasn't even sure why. No, that was a lie. He knew he disliked Damon because the man was close to Emma. "It was a simple question, Devaughn."
"No."
"No what?"
"No, I'm not gay." Damon shrugged. "A simple answer."
Striving for control, Casey drew a slow deep breath, then another. They both heard the shower stop, and the telltale sounds of Emma moving around in the bathroom. Naked.
Casey swallowed, distracted by images of her toweling off. Staring toward the bathroom door, he muttered, "I didn't mean to offend you, Devaughn. I have nothing against—"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. No offense taken." Suddenly the bathroom door squeaked open and Damon, too, turned to stare.
Emma, her hair wrapped in a towel, stuck her head out. She looked startled to find that she already had both men's attention. She glanced first at Casey, then at Damon. "I need a blow-dryer. Who has a motel without blow-dryers in the bathroom?"
She sounded very disgruntled, then answered her own question. "Obviously Mrs. Reider, which I should have guessed, but I stupidly assumed that she'd gotten a little with the times over the past decade."
Damon laughed. "I'll get mine. Hang on."
Casey mouthed silently, I'll get mine, then realized Emma was watching him. He pasted on a leering smile. "You need any help?"
Eyes wide, Emma asked, "With what?"
"Drying off?"
"Uh, no." She looked toward the connecting door as if willing Damon to reappear. He did, curse him.
"Here you go. Don't electrocute yourself."
Emma snatched the dryer out of his hand, cast another quick look at Casey, and shut the door. Seconds later, a loud hum reverberated throughout the room, ensuring Damon and Casey some privacy.
Damon took immediate advantage. Steely-eyed, he advanced on Casey until he stood a mere foot in front of him. "I haven't had many occasions to issue these hairy-chested, testosterone-drowned warnings, but I hope you'll listen despite my inexperience in these things, because I'm dead serious."
Casey drew back and it took him a moment to figure out what the hell Damon had just said. When his meaning sunk in, Casey shook his head. Damon was about the oddest damn duck he'd ever run across. "Yeah, I'm listening, Devaughn. Wouldn't miss it, in fact."
"I love Emma like a sister – a younger sister whom I feel very protective of."
That suited Casey just fine. As long as Damon didn't lust after her, he could
love her all he wanted. "I'm glad to hear it."
"You crushed her once."
Casey scowled. How much had Emma told him? What had she told him? "If that's true, it wasn't on purpose." Hell, Emma had run out on him, not the other way around.
"Yeah, well, you were a kid." Damon's voice dropped to a harsh whisper when the blow-dryer got turned off. "But you're not a kid anymore. Don't hurt her."
Nettled at being chastised, Casey turned away to the window. "I wasn't planning on it." No, he planned on making love to her until they were both exhausted.
Damon followed. "Bullshit. You're on the prowl and we all three know it."
"All three?"
"Emma isn't a stupid woman and she's well acquainted with come-ons. In case you've failed to notice, she's got this natural sexuality about her that turns normal men into wildebeests in heat."
Casey's hands curled into fists. Was it his imagination, or was Damon getting stranger by the moment? "I noticed."
Damon's expression lightened, and he even grinned. "It was a facetious statement, man. Believe me, I noticed you noticing."
"Is there a point to this, Devaughn?"
"Yeah. If you're half as honorable as Emma claimed, you'll leave her alone."
Half as honorable? He again wondered exactly what Emma might have said about him. "I can't do that."
Angered, Damon stepped toward him – and Emma came out of the bathroom. She looked ... astounding.
Casey immediately forgot all about Damon and his half-baked warnings. Emma's hair, loose and soft and feminine, bounced gently around her shoulders and caught the reflection of every light. She wore only a touch of makeup, which made her eyes even larger, darker. But it was the gloss on her lips that really got to Casey. Damn, he wanted to lick it off her mouth, then taste her, only her. Her mouth drove him nuts it was so sexy.
The chambray dress fit her and emphasized every womanly curve without seeming too obvious. She carried a blouse in one hand, her sandals in the other. Without looking at him, she bent and slipped on one sandal, then the other. Enthralled, both he and Damon watched in silence until she was ready.
"Is Gabe here yet?"
Casey shook himself out of his stupor. He moved the utilitarian curtain aside and looked out the window. "Just pulled in. I told him I'd watch for him, so we should go on down."
She nodded and went to sit on the side of the bed next to B.B. The big dog raised up in silent query. "I'll be back soon, bud. You sleep."
The dog's tail smacked hard against the mattress in agreement, and Casey could have sworn he grinned. Then he resettled his head and went back to sleep.
"He understands you?"
"He knows a lot of phrases, and he's smarter than most people I know." Emma picked up her purse. "Besides, he's used to dozing the day away when I work. He'll be fine."
Damon held the door open and they all went out to the parking lot together. Gabe stood lounging against the side of his tow truck in dark sunglasses, a backward ball cap, ragged cutoffs and an unbuttoned shirt that showed his tanned chest. All in all, typical weekend wear for Gabe.
Emma smiled when she saw him and said in an aside to Casey, "He hasn't changed a bit." Then Gabe's youngest daughter, five-year-old Briana, stepped out from behind him and Emma laughed. "Well now, that's new!"
Casey grinned. "We wondered if there'd be any girl babies born into the family since the dominant gene appears to be male. But Gabe surprised everyone, including his wife, by fathering not one, but three daughters. They're five, seven and nine years old. All with blond hair and blue eyes. This is Briana, the youngest."
With twinkling eyes, the little girl scooted to Casey and held up her arms, obliging Casey to lift her. He hefted her to his hip, kissed her golden head, and gave her a fierce hug. "Hey, squirt."
"She's beautiful," Emma said, and stroked Briana's little shoulder. Briana beamed at her for the compliment.
"All three of his daughters are."
Emma laughed again. "Actually, she looks like a small feminine version of Gabe."
"Exactly. Makes him nuts, too."
Damon stepped forward with an outstretched hand. "Damon Devaughn. Thank you for coming out on a weekend."
Gabe, always jovial, shrugged off the remark. "Not a problem. Casey said you have a Mustang Boss. Can't very well leave a sweet car like that on the side of the road, not even here in Buckhorn."
"It's not my car. It's Emma's."
"Emma?" His uncle didn't seem to remember her at all, until he went to shake her hand, which caused him to look at her more closely. "You look familiar." He glanced at Casey. "Have we been introduced before?"
Casey wanted to groan. He sent Gabe a look, but his uncle was distracted trying to recall where and when he'd met Emma.
"I'm from here originally," Emma said. "And really, Mr. Kasper, we do appreciate the help."
"Good God, girl, no one calls me mister. Gabe will do, if you don't want to make me feel old." Gabe stared at her a moment more while attempting to recall her. A smile appeared. "That's right, I remember now. You're that girl who..."
He drew up short on his verbal faux pas, and Casey hurried to fill in the awkward silence. "Emma's been away for eight years."
"S'that right?" Gabe lifted the cap from his head, scratched his right ear and then replaced his hat, all the while grinning. "Welcome home, Emma."
Scrupulously polite, Emma said, "I'm just here for a visit."
Gabe took his daughter from Casey. "Don't be silly. You don't visit home, because you can't ever really leave it." Before anyone could argue that point, Gabe turned to Damon. "You're coming with me, right?"
Damon pulled his concerned gaze from Emma. "Yes. I have the keys to the Mustang. I was hoping to explore the town while you repaired the car."
"Have you had breakfast?"
"Not yet."
"Then I'll drop you at Ceily's diner. You'll get the best ham and eggs in three counties."
Damon and Emma shared a look of mutual wariness. Not understanding, Casey took Emma's arm. "You remember Ceily, don't you, Em?"
She looked stricken only a moment, and in the next instant her face was blank of any expression. She pulled sunglasses from her purse and slipped them on. Casey noted that her hand shook and her tone was clipped when she finally said, "Yes. I remember her." Her smile appeared forced. "You'll enjoy the food, Damon."
Casey didn't know what had upset her, but he decided it was past time to get on the road. "Damon, we'll see you later." Much, much later. "Gabe, thanks again." He waved to Briana. "Be good to Damon, sweetie."
When Damon slid into the seat next to her, Briana beamed at him and said, "You smell good."
"Why, thank you," Damon said with a chuckle.
Gabe groaned. "This is the penance I pay for my misspent youth. Three flirting daughters will definitely be the death of me."
Emma smiled at the exchange as Casey led her to his car. Her moods changed quicker than the breeze, but eventually he'd understand her. Once they finished the visit to the hospital, he'd have her alone on the lake. He'd get some answers, make some headway – and reestablish old bonds.
He could hardly wait.
CHAPTER SIX
DAMON FELT as if he'd stepped into another world, or at least taken a step back in time. "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," he murmured to himself.
Gabe Kasper, a very friendly, laid-back fellow with the absolute worst fashion sense Damon had ever witnessed firsthand, had dropped him off in the middle of the town – if you could call such a small, old-fashioned gathering of buildings a town. But the architecture was impressive, ornate yet sturdy, able to withstand the passing of time.
Prior to letting him out of the truck, Gabe had pointed in the direction of the diner and admonished Damon to stay out of the sun.
True enough, he wasn't much for tanning, and a ball cap, especially one worn backward as Gabe preferred, was out of the question. While looking around, Damon noticed that nearly every person he s
aw was dressed in a similar fashion. It was like being at Palm Beach during spring break. He wondered how many people constituted the local denizens and how many were vacationers visiting the lake.
Women paraded up and down the sidewalks in shorts and bathing-suit tops. Adolescent boys were shirtless. Some children were barefoot. Every doorway spawned several loiterers and damned if there weren't two grizzled old men in coveralls playing checkers under the shade of the barbershop awning. It was like landing in Mayberry, but with color. Lots and lots of color.
Enormous, lush oak trees lined the side of the road and provided some shade to most of the storefronts. The sky was so blue it dazzled. Flowers grew from every nook and cranny, and birds of every size and song flitted about.
Damon drew a deep breath and felt his lungs expand with fresh, humid air. Jesus, he liked it. A lot.
He strolled along the sidewalk, soaking in the atmosphere and acclimating himself. A few minutes later, he smelled the luscious scents from the diner even before he saw it.
When they'd driven through the night before, Emma had pointed the place out, but other than noting the location, he'd paid little attention. He'd been too worried about Emma, watching her to see how she took her return to Buckhorn.
As an architect, he now studied the simple but unique lines of each structure. The diner was spacious, in the same design as the other buildings around it, but modern windows and roofing materials had been added, making it somewhat unique. He knew that eight years ago it had been gutted by fire, which probably accounted for the improvements. Damon shook his head. Emma had retold the story so many times that he knew it by heart.
He continued along, nodding to the people who gave him cautious looks until he reached the diner. Up close, the modern materials were even more noticeable. Still, the reconstruction was a quality job, nicely executed.
The walkway had been swept clean, the windows were spotless, and the ornate oak front door stood propped open by a large clay flowerpot filled to overflowing with purple, yellow and red flowers. The quiet buzz of conversation mingled with the sounds of dishes clacking, food sizzling on the grill and a jukebox playing.