Emily and the Stranger (8 page)

"I can't explain it, Nikki. I've never felt anything like this before in my life. Mitch is so … so … so much a man."

"Uh-oh. Are you ready for that? I mean, you've said you'll never … that is—"

Heat spread up Emily's neck, flushing her face a warm rose beneath her tanned complexion. "Even if I'd like to have sex with Mitch, I won't. I can't."

"I've told you a thousand times that you cannot cut yourself off from life, from a future with a husband and kids, just because of your scarred back."

Reaching across the table, Emily patted Nikki's hand, then gave it a tight squeeze. "I wish you were right about that, but … I've offered Mitch friendship and he's accepted."

"If he's anything like you've described him, then a man like that isn't going to settle for hand-holding."

"Did I do the wrong thing by inviting him to dinner?" Emily wondered if she wasn't asking for trouble, asking to be hurt when Mitch wanted more and she rejected his advances. Or even worse, when she agreed to more and he rejected her. She couldn't bear the thought of Mitch seeing her scarred back and being repulsed by it.

"No, you did the right thing. It's long past time you were dating someone besides Charles Tolbert. And there's no law that says you have to have sex. Look at me, I've dated half the eligible bachelors in the world and I haven't had sex with any of them."

Emily knew that Nikki's reluctance to have sex was based on her memories of her abusive stepfather. Warner Richards had been wealthy, ruggedly handsome and very macho. He'd also been a wife beater and a child abuser. His treatment of Nikki had made her fear most men, especially rugged, powerful, macho men. And although Nikki flitted from one boyfriend to the next, like a love-starved butterfly, she had never given her heart to any man.

"Someday, Nikki, you'll meet a man … a man like Mitch, and you'll want him to make love to you."

"Maybe." Nikki sighed, shaking her head, tossing about her short reddish brown curls. "I'm just glad that you've finally met someone special, and that he's living right next door. It makes me feel better knowing you aren't out there all alone."

Emily lifted her sandwich to her lips. "Do you think the person who has called me and sent me a love letter could actually be dangerous?"

"Who knows? Maybe it is just Charles Tolbert or Rod Simmons or some other guy who has the hots for you," Nikki said. "But what if whoever this guy is, he wants more? He could turn out to be a stalker or a rapist or… Em, are you sure you trust this Ray Mitchell guy?"

"Pretty sure. He didn't even know my name until we introduced ourselves. Besides, there's no evidence pointing to him. And if it was Mitch, then now that I've agreed to a date, there shouldn't be any more phone calls or letters."

"I tend to agree with you. So, if it had been him, then there would be no need for him to send another letter, would there?"

"Well, yes, I suppose not. Why?"

Nikki drew an envelope from her pocket. "This came in the morning mail. I should have given it to you sooner, but—"

Emily snatched the letter out of Nikki's hand, ripped open the end of the envelope and drew out the plain white sheet of paper. "'My beloved Emily,'" she read. "'I arise from dreams of thee, in the first sweet sleep of night…'" Emily's hand trembled. The letter fell from her fingers, floating downward like an autumn leaf in the wind.

Nikki reached out and caught the romantic missive in midair. She scanned the page. "Whoever he is, he's smitten." Nikki laid the letter on the table. "Maybe you should call the police."

"And tell them what? That I've received another love letter?"

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe we're worrying about nothing. Maybe there's nothing more to these letters and phone calls than
a
guy too shy to tell you how he feels face-to-face." Nikki picked up her sandwich and bit into it, then chewed and swallowed quickly. She tapped her fingertips nervously on the table. "All the same, since you're sure this Mitch guy isn't the mystery man, I'm glad he's living next door, in case you need him. And I'm very glad that you're having him over for dinner. You could ask him, point-blank, if he's the one who's been writing to you and calling you."

"It's not him," Emily said. "But if you'd feel better, why don't you ask him yourself when he stops by the shop this evening?"

"I'll give him a thorough inspection and let you know what I think."

"You do that."

"Oh, don't worry, I will."

* * *

Mitch stood outside Zed Banning's office wondering what the hell he was doing there. He had a date with Emily, had promised to pick her up at her art supply store immediately after work. But his foreman at the construction site had given him a message from the big boss. Zed Banning wanted Mitch to drive over to
Mobile
to his office as soon as he left work.

Mitch shifted uneasily in the leather chair in the waiting area outside Zed's office. Zed's secretary had just left, telling Mitch that Mr. Banning was on a long-distance call and would be ready to see him momentarily.

He wasn't sure why Zed had sent him a message that he needed to see him. Was his old friend having second thoughts about hiring a man with a ruined reputation, whom no one else would touch with a ten-foot pole? Or had word reached Zed that Mitch was having problems with another worker, a real jerk named Buddy Crowell?

Or was Zed going to preach him another sermon on staying away from Emily Jordan?

Mitch knew that if Emily discovered the truth about his past too soon, she wouldn't want to be his friend. He needed a chance to win her trust before he told her that he was M. R. Hayden. He prayed that she would understand. If he could change the past he would.

Strange thing about Emily—she was the first woman he'd truly cared about in all the years since Loni had betrayed him. Once he'd met Emily, talked to her, touched her,
he'd
been afraid to tell her his real name. Afraid he'd lose her. Of course, he would have to tell her the truth—sooner or later. Ray Mitchell was really M. R. Hayden, a man hated by so many people—a man who'd lost his hard-earned construction firm along with every dime he had to his name, not to mention his reputation in the business and social worlds.

"Come on in, Mitch. Sorry to keep you waiting." Zed Banning stood in the doorway of his office, his broad shoulders almost touching each side, his big body filling the space.

"No problem," Mitch said. "But if this isn't a life or death situation, could we get this over with in a hurry? I've got a date tonight."

Zed raised his dark, bushy eyebrows, giving Mitch an is-that-so? look. "This won't take too long, but if it's going to run you late, give the lady a call."

"I gave her a quick call from a pay phone before I came over." Mitch followed Zed into his large, airy office. "I was supposed to pick her up right after work."

Zed eyed Mitch's appearance, the sweat-stained shirt, the grime-covered jeans, the day's growth of beard. "Is the lady unto bums?"

Mitch grinned "We're going to pick up the fixings on the way home, and then while she gets dinner started, I'm going to run home and take a quick shower."

"The lady must live close." Zed motioned for Mitch to take a seat, then sat down behind his enormous black metal desk.

"As a matter of fact she lives in the cottage next to mine," Mitch said.

"Dammit man, what have you done?" Emitting a furious growl, Zed slammed one big hand down on his desk. "Have you lost your mind?"

Mitch sat down in a white leather chair strategically located in front of Zed's desk. The inquisition chair. The interview chair. "She's lonely, Zed. Very sad and very lonely. And very beautiful."

"A sad and lonely lady," Zed said. "Old buddy, you're asking for trouble. My advice is to stay away from her. You've got enough problems without sticking your neck in that particular noose."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Mitch eased his body to the edge of the chair, spread his legs and dangled his hands between his knees. "But I'm afraid I can't take your advice. I need Emily in my life right now."

"You didn't tell her who you are, did you?"

"I didn't tell her I was Mitchell Ray Hayden. I told her that I was Ray Mitchell."

"Secrets have a way of coming out. If you won't take my advice about staying out of Emily Jordan's life, then at least don't wait too long to tell her who you are."

"I can't believe she's lived in the Gulf area all her life and the two of you have never met. I thought you were acquainted with every beautiful woman in
South Alabama
." Mitch knew for a fact that Zed Banning had a reputation when it came to women—lovely, sophisticated women. But to Mitch's knowledge, his friend hadn't been involved in a serious relationship since his divorce. Zed had been in the middle of a messy settlement when Mitch had first worked for him twelve years ago.

"Maybe it's lucky for me that our paths haven't crossed. I don't think she's my type. And she's not your type, either," Zed said. "From what I've learned about Emily Jordan, the woman isn't the type for one-night stands or brief affairs. There doesn't seem to have been anyone special in her life since her husband died."

"If you're trying to tell me that I can't be that special man in her life, don't bother. I already know. All I can be is her friend. And once she knows who I am, I'll probably lose her friendship."

"Keep that in mind, and make sure you don't lead her on and wind up breaking her heart. You've already got enough guilt to handle."

"For a man who's never met the lady, you seem awfully concerned," Mitch said.

"I knew that once you saw her, you'd find a way to meet her, but it never entered my mind that you'd ask her for a date."

"I didn't plan it. It just happened."

"Being her friend is a mistake," Zed said. "Becoming more than a friend would be suicidal."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"You'd be better off and so would she if you found yourself some bosomy blonde."

"I've had my fill of cheap blondes and meaningless one-night stands." Mitch glared at his old friend. "For the last five years there hasn't been one meaningful thing in my life. As crazy as it sounds, I want Emily Jordan's friendship. I need to know what it's like to go out on a real date, to be with someone honest and decent and—"

"Tell her who you are. Don't wait. If you wait too long, you'll regret it." Zed leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes riveted to Mitch's face, then abruptly changed the subject. "Tatum has called me more than once about your run-ins with Buddy Crowell."

"So that's what this little visit is all about." Mitch jumped up, balling his hands into fists at his sides. "The guy's a troublemaker. He stays on my case all the time."

"Yeah, well, try to stay out of his way. If Tatum has to fire the guy, I don't want him having cause to fire you along with him."

"I knew it wasn't going to be easy starting all over again as a construction worker. I was never very good at being just one of the Indians. I always wanted to be chief. Hell, maybe I was a fool for ever letting you talk me into coming back to work for you." Mitch rammed his fist into his open palm.

Zed slid his feet off his desk, letting them drop to the floor. "You had to come back to the Gulf and face your ghosts, confront all the guilt that's been eating away at your insides for the past five years. You couldn't go on the way you were. You were well on your way to becoming an alcoholic. You were already a bum on the streets, wondering where your next meal was coming from."

"And what have I got now?"

"A job, a place to live, a chance for a real life." Zed stood, walked around his desk and stopped directly in front of Mitch. "And a date tonight with a beautiful lady."

Mitch sucked in his breath. Emily. "I should get out of her life now, while the gettin's good." Mitch laughed, a mixture of disgust and pain. "But dammit all, Zed, I can't walk away from her."

"Just be upfront with her. Tell her who you are." Zed gripped Mitch's shoulder in his huge hand.

"I'll tell Emily who I am and all about my past just as soon as we get to know each other a little better."

"Don't wait too long. Someone else will tell her if you don't."

"You?"

"No, not me. But despite how much you've changed physically, sooner or later, you'll run into someone who'll recognize you." Zed hesitated momentarily. "You may not remember this, but Fowler Jordan, Stuart Jordan's uncle, came to court every day of your trial. The man memorized your face. If you ever meet him, it's possible that he'll know who you are."

"Then I need to avoid Fowler Jordan until after I've told Emily the truth," Mitch said.

When Mitch rode up in front of the Paint Box and saw Emily's champagne-beige Buick LeSabre, he realized that when they'd made arrangements to meet, neither of them had thought about the fact that they'd be in separate vehicles. Of course, some people might not call his Harley-Davidson low-rider a vehicle.

The Paint Box was located in a small, two-story building in the middle of Fairhope. The outside walls were painted a pale yellow and boasted dark-green awnings over the front door and display windows. Canvases of various sizes had been hung in the windows, along with a variety of imaginatively displayed art supplies.