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The inspector parked in front of the Silver Wolf Lodge. James gazed at the shrub-shrouded motel, knowing this was his temporary home. Once he landed a job, possibly the position Ryder mentioned, he would acquire a permanent place to live.
From there, WITSEC would expect him to establish roots, to blend in. Unless, of course, his security was breached and he had to be relocated again.
Three days had passed since that night in Lewiston, since Emily had lost her fantasy lover. Enough time to forget, to move on, yet she couldn’t seem to get her harried life in order.
Dashing into the back room of Dolly’s All-Night Diner, she punched her time card.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said to the graveyard-shift waitress waiting to leave. “I had a meeting at Corey’s school and it ran longer than I expected.”
“That’s all right. We’ve all got kids,” came the gracious reply.
Emily sighed. She didn’t have kids. She had a younger brother, a child she did her best to mother, in spite of his knack for diving headfirst into exhausting doses of mischief.
She greeted the cook and took her place on the floor, scanning the diner. The place was relatively quiet, leaving her little to do.
Of course, the locals were here, as regular as clockwork. Lorna, the beautician across the street, paid the cashier for her typical take-out order, and Harvey Osborn, a retired postal worker, occupied his usual stool.
Across from Harvey, at an end booth, she spotted the back of someone’s head, a man in a black cowboy hat. A newspaper was spread in front of him, taking up most of the table.
Emily turned the revolving wheel at the cook’s counter, checking out the orders she’d inherited, including Harvey’s cherry Danish and never-ending boost of coffee.
When she refilled his cup, he looked up and smiled. He was a bony little man, with narrow shoulders and baggy trousers. He wore striped suspenders every day, but she suspected he needed them to hold up his pants.
“How are you, missy?” he asked.
“Fine.” Harvey, of course, knew about her cancer. He made a point of knowing everyone’s business, of gossiping like a blue-haired matron.
Keeping his voice low, he cocked his head toward the man in the black hat. “I’ll bet he’s Lily Mae’s new assistant.”
“You think so?” Harvey loved to talk about Lily Mae Prescott, the scatterbrained proprietor of Tandy Stables.
He nudged her arm. “Why don’t you go find out?”
“I suppose I should say hello. Let him know his order is almost ready.” She turned, coffeepot in hand, and approached the black hat.
The man shifted, rattled the paper and looked up.
Emily nearly dropped the glass carafe. “James?”
There he was, as rough and rugged as the timeworn Stetson shielding his eyes, as dark and forbidden as her dreams, as the ache of not making love with him.
She feared she might faint.
“Emily?” Equally stunned, he stared at her.
She moved forward, battling for composure, pretending to do her job. “Do you want more coffee?”
“No. Yes. I guess so.”
He made no sense, but she understood his confusion. They’d never expected to see each other again.
She poured the hot brew, filling his cup, telling herself she would survive this incredibly awkward moment, the pounding of her heart, the ringing in her ears.
His jaw, she noticed, was clean shaven, scraped free of the dark stubble. But somehow, he still managed to look like a desperado, an Indian renegade.
“I thought you were going home,” she said, her voice as unsteady as her pulse.
“I am home. I just moved here.”
Oh, God. Dear God.
“That’s why I was in Lewiston.” He cleared his throat, attempted to explain. “I flew in that night. The motel was close to the airport. It was convenient.” He lifted his cup, set it back down. “Why were you there?”
“I—” She set the coffeepot on his table. “I had an appointment that afternoon, and I didn’t feel like driving home.”
“So you got a room?”
“Yes.” He seemed like a mirage, a figment of her tortured imagination, but he was real. Heaven help her. He was real.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen, Emily.”
“It’s okay. It’s fine.” She wiped her clammy hands on her uniform, on the pink dress she routinely wore. “You’ll like this town.”
“Geez, Louise,” Harvey said from behind her. “You two young folks know each other?”
Silent, James shifted his gaze to the old-timer. Harvey moseyed on over, shuffling his way to the booth.
Emily stood like a statue. She’d tried to forget James Dalton. She’d tried so hard, so desperately to erase him from her mind, from the memory imbedded in her soul.
Without waiting for an invitation, Harvey sat across from James. “Are you Lily Mae’s new assistant?”
“Yes. She just hired me this morning.”
“Hot diggity. I knew it.” He turned to Emily. “Didn’t I tell ya?” Then back to James. “So, how’d you meet our little Emmy? What’s this about Lewiston?”
Caught off guard, James folded the paper. Emily saw him struggle to answer, to find a suitable explanation. “I noticed her. I thought she was pretty.”
And he’d wanted to sleep with me, she thought. Until he’d discovered she’d never had sex before.
Harvey flashed his dentures. “I think she’s pretty, too. That’s why I loiter…I mean, eat here. But don’t tell the other waitresses I said that. They think I hang around for them.”
James’s mouth, that warm, firm mouth, tilted in a faint smile, and Emily recalled the lust-driven flavor of his last kiss, the very moment he’d pulled her onto the bed.
Then let her go.
After Harvey introduced himself to Silver Wolf’s newest resident, reciting his name and how long he’d lived in this county, he said, “So you’ll be working with Lily Mae. That woman’s crazy, you know.”
“Must be why she hired me.”
When James glanced her way, Emily thought about her upcoming surgery. Would he find out? Would Harvey tell him?
“I’ll check on your order,” she said to James, hoping to prod Harvey back to his stool.
But the gossip guru remained where he was, blabbing about Lily Mae Prescott.
Finally, when she brought James’s breakfast, Harvey excused himself, pleased that he’d spoken his piece about Lily Mae.
After the older man paid his bill and left the restaurant, James lifted the brim of his hat, exposing his eyes.
Those haunted eyes.
“They must have been lovers,” he said.
“What?” Emily realized she’d left the coffeepot on his table all this time. That her brain was completely addled.
“Harvey and Lily Mae.”
His words sunk in. “You think he and she—”
“A long time ago. When they were young.”
She blinked, stared at him, blinked again. “No one has ever assumed that before. Lily Mae drives Harvey nuts.”
“Because he can’t get her out of his system.” James tapped on his chest. “It happens sometimes. A woman gets inside you, and you can’t let her go. You—” He paused, as if suddenly aware of what he was saying, of what he was feeling.
Emily didn’t know how to react. She knew he was thinking about the other blonde, the woman she reminded him of. “I better go. Let you eat your meal.”
She attempted to turn away, but he stopped her.
“Wait. Emily, wait.”
Her pulse jumped. “Yes?”
“You didn’t…you haven’t—” he stalled, reached for the ketchup “—found someone else?”
Embarrassed, she shook her head. “It wasn’t that important.”
His hand slid down the base of the bottle, then back up. “Wasn’t it?”
“No. It was just a whim.” She released the air in her lungs. Was he caressing the glass? Molding it like a woman’s body?
His voice turned rough. “I just wanted to be sure that someone else didn’t…”
Didn’t what? Take her virginity? Make her feel good? She chewed her lip, tasting the gloss she’d applied earlier. “I have to get back to work.”
She grabbed the coffeepot and left him alone, staring at the ketchup bottle in his hand.
After a short while, she returned, asking if he wanted anything else. Avoiding eye contact, he shook his head, and she put his bill on the table.
He lingered at the booth, a lone figure in dark clothes, scattered light from a shaded window sending shadows across his face.
Other customers filtered into the diner, and Emily went about her job, taking orders, chatting with people she knew.
Later, as she balanced two breakfast specials, she scanned the room to see him, to look at him one more time. But he was gone, his bill paid, his food barely eaten.
She cleared his table and reached for the shiny gold ornament that held her tip.
It wasn’t a money clip. It was her hair barrette, the one he’d hooked to his jacket on the night they should have made love.
The night he’d left her wanting more.
Three
Emily lived seven miles from town on a paved country road. Her yellow-and-white house, James noticed, looked like a cottage, something out of a gingerbread fairy tale.
He parked his newly acquired truck and sat behind the wheel, hoping the purpose of his visit wouldn’t put her off. He hadn’t seen her for several days, since he’d left the diner without saying goodbye. But he’d run into Harvey Osborn this afternoon at the hardware store, and the old guy had given James an earful.
So here he was, parked on her street, preparing to confront her.
A woman he barely knew.
A woman who had cancer.
He studied the decorative lamppost in front of her house, wondering if the Creator had put Emily in his path for a reason. If meeting her was part of some sort of divine plan.
Yeah, right.
Did he honestly believe the Creator gave a damn about him? That he was even worthy of a plan?
James wasn’t exactly the disciple of a deity. He was an ex-con, an accessory to murder, a man who had no business associating with someone like Emily.
He cursed beneath his breath and exited his vehicle, knowing he should head back to work instead, forget about Emily, keep his distance. But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. He needed to talk to her.
Taking the shrub-lined walkway to her stoop, he adjusted his hat, shielding his eyes, guarding his emotions.
Her dome-shaped door displayed a four-paned window, but he couldn’t see through the smoked glass nor could he predict what awaited him on the other side.
What was he supposed to say to her? How was he supposed to start this conversation?
James knocked, rapping softly. Within a heartbeat, within one anxious, chest-pounding thump, Emily answered the summons, and he had to remind himself to breathe.
Her hair, that honey-blond mane, waved in a loose natural style, springing softly around her face. And her eyes, as green as a sunlit meadow, caught his, trapping him beneath the battered brim of his hat.
She could have been Beverly, he thought. The lady he’d loved.
“James?”
She blinked her sweeping lashes, and he told himself she wasn’t his wife. Her resemblance to Beverly wasn’t that specific.
