“Dammit, why are you making this so hard? Say your prayers, Emily Colton.” He laughed, obviously amused by his tough-guy line. The laughter chilled Emily to her bones. “Here I come, and nothing is gonna stop me now.” The words were followed by a loud crash.
“Emma!”
Toby’s voice was nearly swallowed by the sharp report of gunshots. Two shots in rapid succession.
Then silence.
Emily held her breath, her entire body shaking as she waited to hear a sound, any sound that would let her know what had just occurred. Seconds passed and she stuffed her fist against her mouth to still the cries of terror that begged to be released.
Finally, she heard something—a soft, almost inaudible moan.
She peeked her head up over the back of the sofa and cried out in horror as she saw Toby sprawled on the floor near the front door, a crimson stain spreading over the front of his khaki shirt. Silas “Snake Eyes” Pike was nowhere to be seen.
“Toby!” She pulled herself up off the floor and raced around the edge of the sofa. She fell to the floor beside him, her heart thundering in her chest.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. The words reverberated in her brain. She could tell his wound was bad. Really bad. Blood was seeping not only from his chest, but puddling on the floor beneath him. “Oh God, Toby.”
He smiled at her, a brief, quicksilver smile. “I forgot my hat.”
She nodded, tears racing down her cheeks. His blue eyes gazed at her worriedly and he reached for her hand. “Did…did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice whispery soft.
“No…no. He didn’t hurt me.” She tried to pull away from him. “I’ve got to get you help.”
“Too…late,” he said, the shine in his eyes fading and his voice even more weak. “You…have to get out of here. He…ran out, but I don’t know if I shot him.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she exclaimed and once again tried to pull her hand from his.
He released her hand and touched her cheek softly. “Don’t fret…just get out of here. Everything is going to be all right, Emma.” His hand dropped to his side, and his eyes continued to gaze at her, only this time his gaze was blank.
“Toby?” She grabbed his hand, but there was no reciprocating movement in his. “Toby!” With trembling fingers she touched the side of his neck, trying desperately to feel a pulse.
Nothing. And his eyes continued to stare. She realized he was gone. Dead.
Deep, wrenching sobs overtook her as she held his hand, drew it to her lips and kissed it. Oh God, not Toby. Please, bring him back. Don’t take him. Sweet, dear Toby, who had always looked out for her, who had suspected she might be in trouble.
Dead.
Dead because of her.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat beside him, gripping his hand and sobbing, but through the grief that ripped through her, fear once again flurried inside her and she knew she had to do as Toby had told her to. She had to get out of here.
She pulled herself up, knowing there was nothing more she could do for Toby, and grabbed her purse and duffelbag.
Tears half blinded her as she glanced down at the body. “I’m sorry, Toby,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” The grief that filled her was nearly debilitating, but she shoved it away. “You’re a hero, Toby. You’ll always be my hero.”
A moment later she slipped out of the cottage and into the dark of the night. She paused there, swallowing again and again in an effort to still her sobs. She had to put her grief aside and focus on her present situation.
She had no idea if Toby had managed to shoot Silas Pike. She couldn’t know if the gunman was now lying in a pool of blood or if he’d managed to escape Toby’s shot unscathed.
She had no idea if Silas had come alone or had brought an accomplice with him. It was possible Silas or one of his cohorts was hiding behind one of the trees, squatted down in the underbrush, waiting for her, waiting to finish his job.
He wouldn’t know that Toby was dead, that Toby could no longer protect her. But, eventually, if he were capable, he would realize something was amiss and he would return to the cottage to complete what he’d begun.
She crept from tree to tree, holding her breath and trying not to step on branches or twigs that might snap and give away her location. Her anguish over Toby was shoved deep inside, her instinct for survival first and foremost at the moment.
Walking as swiftly and as silently as she could, she kept her ears peeled for any sound, no matter how small, that might indicate Silas “Snake Eyes” Pike was following her.
She headed for the highway. Even though she knew hitchhiking was dangerous, it didn’t seem as dangerous as the man who might be stalking her. And at the moment a car or truck carrying her far away from here sounded wonderful.
Still, it was slow going as she found herself freezing, heart pounding, each time she heard a crackling of underbrush or the wind rustling leaves.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed or how long she had walked before she finally came to the highway. Hiding behind a tree some distance away, she eyed the deserted road and prayed for headlights to pierce the darkness of the night.
It was as she was crouched in the underbrush by the highway that a new thought sent terror through her. What if Silas Pike had a car? What if he was parked down the highway at this very moment, watching, waiting for her to emerge from the brush?
Nine
“I thought I’d surprise you and make breakfast,” Chance said when Lana entered the kitchen. He walked toward her, a pleased smile on his handsome face as he held a plate of eggs, sausage and toast under her nose.
Lana took one look, the odors of grease and food wafting to her nose, and backed away from him and the plate. She turned and raced to the bathroom, slammed the door behind her, then was violently ill.
She’d managed to hide the morning sickness from Chance for the past week because when she got out of bed in the mornings, he was already outside.
By the time he came into the house around noon for lunch, the brief bout of sickness had passed and she was fine for the remainder of the day.
Now, feeling as if the worst was behind her, she rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth, disappointment sweeping through her as she realized the cat was probably now out of the bag. He would know that he’d successfully fulfilled his end of their bargain.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, but saw no discernible sign of pregnancy. She’d heard of the glow of pregnancy, but after spilling her guts, her skin retained a paleness that didn’t even begin to resemble a glow.
She opened the bathroom door, unsurprised to see Chance standing in the hallway. “I’ve had some interesting reactions to my cooking, but I think that was probably the most dramatic,” he said with a touch of wry humor.
“I’m sorry,” she replied, a touch of nausea still rolling in the pit of her stomach. She drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself and still her bucking tummy.
“Do you think maybe you have a touch of the flu?” He gazed at her intently, his facial expression utterly unreadable.
She considered saying yes, telling a little white lie that would extend their time together, but she knew she couldn’t. “No, I don’t think it’s the flu.”
“What do you think it might be?”
He knew. She could see in his eyes that he knew what it was, but he was waiting for her to speak it, to say the words out loud.
“I think maybe it’s morning sickness.”
Finally speaking the words out loud sent a thrill through her, an excited thrill tempered by the devastating knowledge that there would now be no reason for Chance to ever make love to her again.
“Morning sickness,” he echoed. “Maybe we should get one of those home pregnancy tests to make sure. We should probably do that before we make a doctor’s appointment for you.”
“Okay,” she agreed, surprised that he’d used “we” instead of “you,” making it obvious he intended to be a part of this at
least until they got the final results and knew for certain that she was pregnant.
Together they went back into the kitchen, where Chance had apparently removed any sign of food while she’d been in the bathroom. “How about just a piece of toast or maybe a couple of crackers?” he asked.
“No, thanks, I’m fine for a little while.” She sank down at the table, still feeling a little shaky.
“What about a cup of coffee? A glass of juice or something?” His brow wrinkled worriedly.
She waved her hands, then smiled at him reassuringly. “I’m fine, Chance. My stomach should settle down by noon, then I’ll eat some lunch.”
He sat down at the table across from her, his brow still crinkled worriedly. “Are you feeling all right other than the nausea? I mean, are you in any pain or anything like that?”
“No. Really, I’m fine.” His obvious concern touched her deep inside and sent a warm glow through her. He cared. At least he cared a little bit about her.
“Do you want to go ahead and take a ride into town? Get the test?”
“I don’t want to interfere with your work schedule,” she replied.
He shrugged. “I probably won’t get much done until we find out what’s going on with you. We might as well head on into town.”
“Okay,” she said without enthusiasm, knowing that a positive test result would be the final nail in the coffin of her marriage. “Just let me get my purse.”
She left the kitchen and went back into their bedroom. She grabbed her purse, but hesitated in the doorway, gazing at the bed where Chance had introduced her to such physical pleasure. It wasn’t just his lovemaking that she was going to miss.
She’d miss his quicksilver, sexy smile, the laughter that transformed his eyes to a beautiful spring green. She’d miss sitting on the porch with him in the evenings, sharing the end of the day with quiet conversation and reflective thoughts.
Grief ripped through her, unexpected in its intensity. She’d known for some time that it would be difficult for them to part, but she hadn’t realized just how difficult it was going to be.
Would he want her to leave immediately? By this evening, with a positive test result known, would she be packing her things? Would she awaken in the morning not with Chance’s arms around her, but rather alone in the bed in her lonely apartment?
She left the bedroom and shoved these thoughts away. She couldn’t dwell on the future, not even the immediate future. She’d take this day minute by minute. She had a feeling it was the only way she would be able to get through it.
He was waiting for her by the front door, jingling his car keys in his hand. She wondered if he was eager to get the test, get the results, and then get her out of his life. Again a shaft of pain shot through her heart.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” she replied and together they left the house that for Lana had become a home.
“You know the minute we buy a home pregnancy test in the drug store, everyone in town will know it,” she said once they were in the car and on their way.
“Yeah, there aren’t many secrets in Prosperino, are there? But I figure if you went to a doctor, everyone in town would also know.”
She nodded her agreement. She well knew how gossip flew in Prosperino. For years the major topic of conversation in the café and between women at the stores had been the dramatic change in Meredith Colton’s personality. Or, more recently, the attempted murder of Joe Colton and the arrest of his friend Emmett Fallon.
She wondered how much gossip had flown around about her and Chance following their quickie wedding? Everyone in Prosperino knew Chance as a sexy bad boy, a young man who’d often been in trouble with his father, and occasionally in trouble with the law. They knew him as a man who’d never committed himself to anyone or anything.
They saw only the shell he presented to the outside world. But Lana knew the truth. She knew him as a sensitive man with a beautiful spirit, a man who had been scarred by the years of abuse inflicted on him by his father.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“Yes, much.” She grinned at him. “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t throw up in your car.”
He returned her smile. “I wasn’t worried about that.” His smile faded. “I just don’t like the idea of you feeling bad.”
Oh, heaven help her. When he said nice things to her like that, her heart fluttered and her love for him expanded. She cast him a surreptitious glance, noting how wonderful he looked in the dark green, long-sleeved dress shirt. The color brought out the bright green of his eyes and pulled forth the golden strands in his brown hair.
Aware that her time with him was running out, she tried to memorize each and every feature—the square shape of his face, his strong, straight nose, the full lips that gave him a sensual, sexy aura.
She directed her gaze out the window, in her mind’s eye seeing his naked body, the broad shoulders dusted lightly with a sprinkling of freckles, the muscled chest with its soft golden hair and the flat abdomen with a tiny mole right next to his belly button.
His legs were long and muscular and covered with springy, curly hairs that pleasantly tickled her legs when he wrapped them around her.
Her inner temperature seemed to climb higher as she thought of him more intimately, remembering the nights of pleasure he’d given her, the mastery of his caresses, the control that allowed him to take her to the peak over and over again before sating himself.
And beyond the intensity of her physical reaction to him, she knew she’d miss those moments when he’d walk past her and lightly touch her hair or give her back a quick stroke. She’d miss the way he placed his hand in the small of her back when they crossed a street, how he always held out a hand to help her up out of a chair. He did these things unconsciously, but she was intensely conscious of every single touch from him.
She tried to imagine herself in the future, alone and raising Chance’s son or daughter. Would the child look like him? Would her daughter have bright green eyes, or her son have Chance’s square facial shape and strong nose? Would she be able to look at her baby and not remember, not mourn for the man she loved?
Again she worked to push these disturbing thoughts out of her head, unwilling to grieve before it was absolutely, positively necessary. At least she had a little bit of time with him before they knew the test results and they told each other goodbye.
Once they reached town, Chance was in no hurry to race to the drugstore and buy the test. He suddenly thought of a dozen errands he’d been putting off but now seemed necessary to complete immediately.
It was an additional pleasure to have Lana tagging along. In the hardware store she helped him pick out the new handles he wanted to put on the kitchen cabinets. He listened to her opinions, remembering what she’d said about needing to please a prospective buyer’s wife as well as the husband.
He appreciated her input on what was the best kind of floor cleaner to scrub the linoleum in the kitchen and which furniture polish did the best job.
And in every conversation, in every minute that passed between them, the knowledge that she was probably pregnant never got far from his mind.
Hearing her in the bathroom that morning had been torturous for him. He’d heard about morning sickness, but he’d never really thought about what it meant. Why on earth would women want to get pregnant and suffer through that kind of thing?
What other negative things would happen to her and her body during pregnancy? He’d heard of crazy cravings, intense mood swings and uncontrollable weeping. Would she be able to handle all that alone? Had she really understood what she’d been getting into when she’d agreed to this whole crazy scheme?
After the hardware store, he asked her if she felt like getting a bite to eat and she readily agreed. They went to the café and took a booth in the back. Within minutes Angie came out from the kitchen to visit with them.
“Hey, you two,” she greeted them with h
er usual friendly smile. “I’ve been meaning to drive by your place for the last week or so.” She plunged her hand into the pocket of her huge apron and withdrew several index cards and handed them to Lana.
“What’s this?” Lana asked.
Angie smiled sheepishly. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous and I’m sure you’re a wonderful cook. But these are the recipes for dishes I remember Chance especially loved eating here.”
She smiled warmly at Chance. “I haven’t forgotten how much you enjoyed my hot chicken salad when you were young, and that strawberry pie that I used to make.” She turned and looked at Lana. “I just thought it would be nice if you, as his wife, had those recipes.”
Lana’s eyes were huge and impossibly luminous. “Thank you, Angie,” she said, then suddenly bolted from the table and raced toward the rest rooms.
Angie looked at Chance in surprise. “My goodness, is she all right? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, nothing like that,” Chance hurriedly assured her. “Lana has been fighting off a little flu bug for the past couple of days.” The little white lie rolled from his lips effortlessly. He wasn’t about to admit to Angie that Lana might be pregnant before they knew for sure.
“There’s some nasty stuff going around,” Angie replied. “I heard Wilma Nitters had to be hospitalized for dehydration after a bout with the flu.”
“Trust me, I’ll see that doesn’t happen to Lana,” Chance said.
Angie smiled at him. “I’m so happy for you, Chance. It’s good to see you looking so happy.” She reached out and patted his shoulder with her plump hand. “Me and Harmon drove by your ranch the other night and the place looks great. Your mama would have been proud of you. She loved that ranch.”
Chance looked at Angie in surprise. “My mother loved the ranch?”
“Indeed.” With no little effort, Angie scooted into the place Lana had vacated, her plump body just fitting between the back of the booth and the table. “Ah, Chance, your mama loved that place almost as much as she loved you. Most evenings she’d sit on the porch and listen to the cattle, the insects, the night songs of birds and she told me she always felt secure, and warm and safe because she knew she was listening to the sounds of home. She’d be so pleased that you’re carrying on her love of the land and making that place a home.”
Pregnant In Prosperino Page 11