Lone Ranger

by VK Powell

  “She said she’s almost finished her doctorate work.”

  “She’s been going to night classes at the University of Virginia and working on her dissertation in her spare time. I hope she’ll get a full-time position when she’s finished and leave this dead-end job.”

  Emma stretched her legs closer to the fire and sipped her brandy. “I didn’t realize she was so nurturing.”

  “Protective is more like it. She’s seen the harsh side of life and has appointed herself as protector—mostly mine. I’ve told her I can take care of myself.”

  “No doubt about that.” Emma paused before asking her next question. “So what should I do, Ann?”

  “It depends on your intentions, not meaning to sound old-fashioned. But if you care about Carter, give her time to think through what happened and how she feels about it. If you’re just having a fling, chase her.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “When Carter figures out how she feels, she’ll come to you if she’s interested. If you chase her, she’ll run faster than an eight-point buck in hunting season.”

  Emma considered Ann’s advice and decided it made sense, based on the little she knew about Carter. “I’m not really sure what I want, but thanks. I defer to your insight about your niece and your expertise with women. Speaking of which, can I please hear more about you and Cass? I know we’re close to the two of you getting together. You left off where she’d come to visit and told you she was going to marry husband number three. She kissed you good-bye, and you didn’t really talk for two more years.”

  Ann topped up their mugs and settled back into her cushy recliner. “And Cass did exactly what she said. She married that man a week later. Things seemed to be going all right between them as far as anyone could tell. Of course, I never talked with her. We would pass on the street and exchange long glances, but she wouldn’t acknowledge me. I didn’t find out until years later that he’d threatened to beat her senseless and leave her and her mother flat broke if she ever spoke to me again.”

  “What a heartless animal. Was there nothing you could do?”

  “Cass made her choice. I had to live with it.”

  Emma couldn’t help thinking there was more, something else keeping Ann at bay other than an abusive husband and a half-hearted choice on Cass’s part. Too many love stories had overcome greater obstacles. She didn’t seem like the type to give up without a fight.

  Ann tugged at her scarf necktie. “Anyway, the first year went along with no major problems. I heard news occasionally from friends. Toward the end of the second year of their marriage, all hell broke loose.”

  Emma leaned forward, certain this was the part where Ann finally got her woman.

  “I heard that Cass was pregnant and—”

  “Pregnant? No way.” Ann and Cass had been plagued with a string of unfortunate circumstances that kept them apart for years. Emma’s heart ached for such a strong love so long denied.

  “That’s pretty much what I said before I went on a week-long bender. I’d been living with false hope the marriage was in name only, that she really didn’t allow the bastard to touch her, much less put his…You get my meaning.”

  Emma reached over and squeezed Ann’s hand. “I’m sure that was devastating.”

  Ann’s eyes misted. “That was it for me. I quit my job at the furniture factory and—”

  “What?” Emma shook her head, unsure she’d heard right. “Wait a minute. Furniture factory? I obviously missed something.”

  “Guess I skipped over some details. As I’ve said before, things were difficult in my life too. I’d gone to work in Thompson’s factory shortly after they got married.”

  “Which Thompson?” Emma’s empty stomach pitched and churned, as much from Ann’s news as from the brandy.

  “Theodore Wayne Thompson, III, her good-for-nothing husband. He never did anything but siphon money from the business and make the workers miserable.”

  Emma’s mind clouded, and her pitching stomach now churned. She tried to put the disjointed pieces together. Cass was married to Theodore Thompson? This couldn’t be right. “I thought Theodore Thompson was married to a woman named Sandra.”

  “Sandra, hell. Her name was Cass Calloway. I was the only one allowed to call her Cass—short for Cassandra. Everybody else knew her as Sandra. He thought it sounded more high-society. My aching ass.”

  More pieces fell into place, and the implications made Emma queasier. She wiped sweat from her forehead and took another sip of brandy.

  “Are you okay, Emma? You look washed out.”

  “I’m just a little hot all of a sudden.”

  Ann rose and adjusted the wood stove while Emma tried to compose herself. Questions whirled through her mind too numerous to count and too compelling to ignore. She considered leaving to avoid the inevitable conclusion of this story, but her professional curiosity forced her to stay and to question until the end.

  “How could you work for a man you despised, Ann?”

  “Like I said, things were complicated. The economy was tight. They needed workers at the factory, and I needed a job in the worst way. I had no other choice.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for you to see him, knowing the woman you loved was in his bed at night.”

  “It was all I could do not to strangle him every time I was near him. He’d look at me with his smug grin, and I’d see blood. He was an awful boss too. If his tiny little pea brain were on fire, not one of us would’ve pissed in his ear to put it out. Except for my supervisor, I would’ve killed him several times over. He pulled me off him more than once and made me refocus on the big picture.”

  Ann had just uttered the words Emma prayed she wouldn’t hear—a motive for murder. A knot gathered in her throat, and she struggled to swallow. “What was the big picture? What kept you so dedicated to a job you hated and to a woman you couldn’t have?” She needed confirmation of the driving force behind Ann’s commitment, afraid she already knew. She sensed a deeper purpose and feared what Ann might’ve done to achieve it.

  “Maybe I was a slow learner?” Ann wiped her eyes and rose unsteadily to her feet. Worry lines creased her forehead.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Grasping Ann’s hands, Emma brought them to her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s just that some stories aren’t entirely mine to tell. I had financial responsibilities I couldn’t ignore.”

  “Was it Carter? She told me about the accident and coming to live with you.”

  Ann hesitated. “What else did she say?”

  “Just that her parents were killed in a car accident when she was two years old.” Emma knew there was more to this story, but the conflict and pain on Ann’s face stopped her from pushing harder.

  “Yes. I had to work in Thompson’s God-forsaken factory to take care of Carter. Her father was my only sibling. We’re blood. I did what had to be done. Always have and always will. And I don’t regret one single second I’ve devoted to that child.”

  Ann’s responses raised more questions, questions Emma wasn’t ready to ask. What if Ann had been involved in Thompson’s murder? Did Emma really want to know? How would that fact affect her fledgling relationship with Carter and Emma’s growing affection for Ann? What would it mean for her story? She rose from the recliner, drained the brandy from the tin mug, and handed it back to Ann. “You’re an honorable woman, Ann West, and I can tell Carter loves you very much. That was a totally selfless thing you did.” She hugged Ann. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Some memories will be painful as long as I live. Thanks for listening.”

  “Thanks for trusting me with your story.” Emma stepped into the cold night air, and as tears sprang to her eyes, she wiped them with the back of her hand. She desperately wanted these two powerful stories—Thompson’s murder and Ann’s love—to remain separate, but they’d collided and entwined years ago. Emma’s only hope now was to keep them
from destroying the lives of two women she cared for deeply.

  *

  Carter paced outside Emma’s cabin, debating whether to knock on the door. Her nerves knotted as she tried to calm down and breathe normally. Why did she feel compelled to talk to Emma about last night? She’d seemed perfectly fine during their trips to and from town, even anxious for a repeat. Carter had never explained herself to a woman after sex, but she’d never gotten entirely carried away before either.

  She climbed the steps, a gangplank to the unknown, and shuffled from one side of the porch to the other. The argument raged in her mind. Knock. Don’t knock. Talk. Don’t talk. Run. She’d always been in charge of her emotions, always holding a little back for protection until she was certain she could trust. She wasn’t there with Emma Ferguson yet. Carter turned to leave. Whatever she imagined needed to be said could wait.

  Suddenly the cabin door opened, and Emma stood in the entrance holding a broom above her head. “Who the hell is out here?” she yelled, rushing onto the porch.

  Carter raised her hands. “I give up.”

  “Carter? I heard someone walking around, and since the prowler and the slashed tires…Guess I’m getting paranoid. I’m sorry. Come inside.”

  “Are you sure it’s not too late for visitors? I could come back another time.” Carter secretly prayed she would say yes.

  “Since you didn’t show up after your rounds, I thought you were already having second thoughts.” Emma closed the door behind them, leaned the broom against the wall, and waited.

  Carter tugged at her necklace. Emma’s pull was as strong as the outdoors and even more appealing. I need to have my say and get out—fast.

  Emma stepped forward, so close Carter felt her body heat. Then she reached up and touched Carter’s hand that was fingering her necklace. “I’ve been meaning to ask about this. It seems to give you comfort when you’re anxious about something.”

  Was she ready to tell the story of this treasured piece, of the anguish she’d gone through to earn it? She slowly pulled the chain and its small ornament from her shirt. At the end of the chain, encased in a sphere of tiny silver threads, rested a cat’s-eye marble. The clear-glass exterior protected eight veins of deep amber. Carter had worn the beautiful orb for so long she knew every flaw and nuance.

  Emma took the small object between her fingers and rolled it over and over. “The hue of the veins matches the color of your eyes. It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s a peewee cat’s eye. Cass gave it to me for my eighth birthday. We played marbles all the time, just the two of us. She said it would always watch over me. Her eyes were the same color too.” Carter couldn’t tell the whole story yet; her memories were too strong and emotive.

  “You loved her very much, didn’t you?” Emma took Carter’s hand and led her to the sofa. “Sit with me.”

  “She and Ann were my family for thirty-six years. We were very happy.” Carter’s voice cracked as she allowed her gaze to settle on Emma’s face. The tenderness in her eyes soothed and encouraged her.

  Emma hugged Carter, nestled Carter’s head against her breasts, and gently rocked. Time slipped by as Carter allowed herself to be comforted by someone other than Ann. Tension drained from her body as Emma stroked her hair. She’d shared two of the most intimate stories of her life with this woman. Being with Emma was so easy. When she finally stirred, Carter felt a lightness she’d never experienced and decided to tell Emma why she’d come by.

  “Carter, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk about last night.”

  “Wait. Can I go first, please? I’ve been wandering through the woods for the past hour trying to get up the nerve to come in. If I don’t get it out now, I never will.”

  Emma searched her face for a few seconds and finally nodded.

  “I’ve never been one to just come out and say things, emotional things. I figure what is meant to happen is just going to, and we don’t need to talk it to death.” Carter rose and paced in front of the fireplace. “No, that’s not right,” she muttered to herself.

  “Why don’t you just say it, Carter? You don’t have to be eloquent, just honest.”

  “I’ve always been a loner in the relationship sense. That sounded ridiculous. What I mean is, it’s not easy to let people in. Ann says I’ve got enough scar tissue for several lifetimes.”

  Emma smiled and waited patiently.

  “I…I think I have…feelings for you, and I’ve never felt like this. It’s too soon. Last night you…that was another first for me. I don’t know what to do with all these different emotions. Maybe I’m just imagining a connection. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting anything serious, but maybe we could explore the possibilities…if you’re interested at all. And you’re probably not. You’ll be gone in a few days, and I’ll be a distant memory.”

  Emma smiled again, but this time her smile suffused her face with light. “Once you start you just keep going. Do you want my input, or would you rather continue your monologue?”

  “Sorry, but this is scary.” There. She’d said the word that summed up every insecurity, false start, ended relationship, and uncertainty in her life. Fear.

  “Beginnings are always scary. I imagine it’s especially so for you, to open up and trust.”

  “It’s difficult for me to imagine…” Carter scrunched her face like she’d done since childhood when she was worried or unsure.

  “I’m afraid of abandonment. Women always leave me, not the other way around,” Emma said. “In your case, you’re probably the one who ends it. Am I right?”

  Carter couldn’t look at Emma because she was right. Carter had never found a woman who made her want to commit to the long haul. She was the epitome of Emma’s greatest fear.

  “There’s no shame in that, Carter, no judgment. We’re all different. It would be so easy for me to get seriously involved with you,” Emma admitted. “I’m very attracted to you, and it scares me too.”

  Carter stopped in front of the sofa and their eyes locked. Emma flushed a delicious shade of pink and looked at the floor. “Last night was different for you too?”

  “I’ve never been that assertive before. It was something I needed to do, and you were strong enough to let me. And you were so responsive. I’ve never elicited that sort of reaction from a lover.”

  Carter wasn’t sure what Emma had just said. Did she care about her too, or was she just having a fling, spreading her sexual wings? She paced from the front door through the small living area into the kitchen. Had she made a terrible mistake revealing her fledgling feelings? When she reached the table, she turned and started back. After several trips conducted in silence, she couldn’t bear the quiet any longer. “Does that mean you have feelings for me too?”

  She stopped abruptly beside the kitchen table, resting her hands on the back of a chair, readying herself for Emma’s answer. She stared at the stack of documents scattered across the tabletop. What the hell? Picking up a notepad, she scanned the notes and followed the drawn arrows toward two words circled in the center of the page. Ann’s motive. She tensed as she turned to face Emma again. The warmth between them evaporated, replaced by a sheet of black ice, invisible but deadly.

  “Carter, what’s wrong?”

  She shook the pages in Emma’s direction. “What’s this about?”

  “What’s what about?” Emma rose from the sofa and started toward her.

  “Stop. I should’ve known better than to trust you.”

  “Carter, why are you so upset? Those are notes for my story.”

  She pointed to the papers. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “Find out about my article? I haven’t kept it a secret.”

  “Don’t play innocent with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. This is more than a history piece. You’re rehashing the Thompson disappearance, aren’t you?” The blood in Carter’s temples pounded so loudly she could barely hear herself think. Idiot! I told you not to trust her.
<
br />   “I’m looking into the possibility that it might be more than a disappearance.”

  “You don’t have any idea what you’re about to unleash, do you? Was Ann part of the plan all along or just icing on the cake? Pretending to care about her life with Cass was a nice touch. If you really have any feelings for her or me, you’ll drop this before you drag us all through the mud. Our life may not have been Ozzie and Harriett, but it was ours.”

  Emma’s eyes pleaded for understanding as she stepped closer and tentatively extended her hand. “Carter, why is this upsetting you? I know you’re a private person, but this story is about Thompson. What am I missing?”

  “I doubt very seriously you’ve missed anything. You’re connecting all the dots, but in the wrong order.” She held up the sheet of paper with Ann’s motive in the center and waved it in front of Emma again. “Was this what last night was about too? Were you getting close to hear my side of the story?”

  “Carter, no. It’s my job to explore all the possibilities.”

  “No matter who it hurts.”

  “You asked if I have feelings for you—”

  “And this is my answer.” Carter flung the paper to the floor. “If you do care about me, you’ll let this go. Please, Emma.”

  Emma held Carter’s gaze. “I can’t. I gave my word to a woman who desperately needs help. She’s in the same situation my mother was years ago, and I couldn’t help her. This is professional and personal. I have to see it through. But it doesn’t change how I feel—”

  “I don’t need to hear any more.”

  “But Carter, please.” Emma tried to stop her as she headed for the door

  “Don’t touch me.” She glared at Emma before opening the door and stepping out. She barely remembered hearing the door close behind her before she ran into the woods.

  Chapter Twelve

  Night passed slowly as visions of Carter’s pained expression interrupted Emma’s attempts to sleep. At dawn she forced her drowsy body from bed, showered, and consumed a pot of strong coffee. The caffeine kick was more like a stumble as she sat staring at the documents covering the kitchen table.