The Hopechest Bride (3 page)

“Oh,” Emily said, swallowing hard once again. “I—I didn't know. Toby told me you ride the rodeo circuit.”

“I do, but when the season's over I hire myself out to ranchers. Toby probably told you that, too.”

Emily nodded, looking away from those hard, hard eyes, that unyielding mouth. “Yes. I think he did. But you worked ranches in Wyoming.”

“No reason for me to be in Wyoming anymore, is there, Miss Colton? No reason at all.”

Emily pressed both hands to her cheeks. “Oh,
God.” She sighed, tried to marshal her nerves, dropped her hands to her sides once more. “I should have tried to contact you, shouldn't I? I mean, you have a right to know what happened that night. Toby…Toby saved my life.”

“Yeah, so I'm told. And to reward him for that service, you left him bleeding on the floor and took off. Left him alone to die. You have a strange way of saying thank you, Miss Colton. Well, that's enough for now, isn't it? I'll be seeing you again. Again and again. You can sort of consider me your conscience, Miss Colton. Your guilty conscience.”

“No!” Emily yelled at his back, for Josh Atkins had turned on his heels and was already climbing into the truck with Rollins Ranch painted on the door of the cab. “No, it wasn't like that! I didn't— Oh, God,” she ended, all but collapsing against the fence rails as the truck drove out of the stable yard, toward the main gate. She hugged herself as she watched the truck drive away, tears running down her face. “It wasn't like that…it wasn't like that.”

 

Josh pulled to the side of the road about a mile from the Colton ranch and cut the engine, pounded his gloved fists against the steering wheel.

“Damn,” he said once, then twice, then over and over for as long as his breath held out. “Damn, damn,
damn!
”

Well, wasn't he the hero? He ought to get out of the truck, see if he could round up a couple of fuzzy
bunnies, then stomp on them. Pull the wings off a few butterflies, drive to town and grab a lollipop out of the mouth of some defenseless baby.

Had he ever seen such hurt in anyone's eyes? Even before he'd said a word, opened his dumb mouth, he'd seen the despair in the way she'd stood at the fence, the defeat in her posture, the weight of the world dragging at her slim shoulders. He'd seen injured animals, plenty of them, and could almost smell them, smell the fear. Emily Colton had been drenched in fear and hopelessness, even before he'd stepped up behind her and made his presence known.

So then he'd kicked her. Hey, she was already down—so why not? She deserved it, didn't she?

“Oh, God,” Josh breathed, shaking his head. “I must be losing whatever's left of my mind.”

He lay his head back against the headrest, closed his eyes and saw Emily Colton's face. She was just as Toby had described her a million times in his letters. Small, but not too small, with good shoulders for a woman, and straight long legs that looked damn good in jeans.

She'd had on a denim jacket lined with sheepskin, the hem of the jacket just nipping at the top of her small waist, giving her an air of fragility belied by her clothes.

But it was her face that gave away the whole game, even as he'd refused to see what was there. Those sad blue eyes, that flawless yet too-pale skin, the way she sort of hunched her shoulders protectively, as if pre
pared for life to give her a punishing whack—another whack, because she'd already had a few, hadn't she?

And that hair. God, how Toby had all but waxed poetic about that thick mane of chestnut hair. Toby had once had a chestnut mare just about that same color. He wondered if Toby had made the connection, and doubted it. Emily Colton was one hell of a cut above a rangy old mare that was all Josh could afford to buy his baby brother for his fifteenth birthday.

So, okay. So she was pretty. Beautiful. As beautiful as Toby had said in his letters. And she was hurting. Was she hurting about Toby? Josh wondered….

“It doesn't matter, damn it! She killed him,” he said, sitting up once more, reaching for the key still in the ignition. “She killed him as much as if she put the bullet in his chest herself. And I'm
not
going to let little Miss Blue Eyes forget that. Not for a very, very long time.”

M
eggie James had all the fair-haired beauty of her mother and the never-say-die determination of her father. At the moment, that determination was directed at trying to pull herself up on the coffee table so that she could get her chubby hands on her mother's teacup.

“No way, sweetheart,” Sophie Colton James scolded with a smile, redirecting her daughter by holding out a teething ring River's Native American grandmother had fashioned out of thin strips of rawhide.

“Can you believe how much she loves this thing?” Sophie asked Emily, who was holding her own teacup out of the baby's reach. “I've threatened to start call
ing her Fido, but River just laughs and says his grandmother raised a lot of kids and knows what she's doing. I suppose so,” she ended, grinning down at Meggie, who had just learned how to lower herself to her plump bottom and was now chewing on the teething ring for all she was worth.

Emily watched as Meggie actually cooed at the rawhide circle, then stuck it in her mouth once more. “It is ugly, isn't it? I know Mom told me about the thing when Maya's little Marissa was at the ranch the other day, just about gnawing on Mom's shoulder because she's cutting another tooth. In fact, I think Mom said she wishes she'd had a gross of the things when we were growing up,” Emily said, grinning down at the contented baby who was happily drooling all over her pretty pink coveralls. “Of course, she also said she'd often thought about keeping us all on stout leashes, but I think she might have been kidding about that one.”

“Mom's great, isn't she? She's back in stride, handing out love and advice, just as if she'd never been…well, never been away,” Sophie said, lifting her teacup. “I can't tell you how happy we are that Meggie's finally learned how to get back down once she's pulled herself up. I think Riv and I slept about three minutes all last week, always having to go into her bedroom and lay her back down in her crib. But when I told Mom about it, she said to put the pillows over our heads and let Meggie cry, because eventually she'd let go and figure out that she can get back down
all by herself. To hear Mom tell it, we weren't doing Meggie or ourselves any favors by constantly running to her.”

“Did you let her cry?” Emily asked, reaching for a homemade cookie Maya's mother, Inez, had baked only that morning and asked her to take with her to Sophie's house.

Sophie winced. “Not for the first night after Mom's advice. We just couldn't do it. I kept thinking she'd fall, hit her head, all that good stuff you swear you'll never think about, but that you think about all the time once you have babies of your own. But the second night Riv made me watch the clock for ten minutes, and only go to her then—or if we heard a bang,” she added, shaking her head. “Seven minutes later, everything was quiet. Riv waited a few minutes more, then sneaked into her room and there she was, sound asleep on her belly, with her rump stuck up in the air. We haven't had a problem since.”

“Moms and grandmothers,” Emily said, sighing. “They give good advice, don't they? Or they think they do.”

“Oh, now that sounds ominous,” Sophie said, picking up Meggie, who had begun rubbing her eyes. “Let me put this one down for her nap, and I'll be right back. Because being Inez's cookie delivery person wasn't the only reason you rode over here this morning, was it?”

Emily watched as Sophie and Meggie headed for the hallway and stairs, then sat back in her chair, ad
miring the way her sister had decorated the living room. Part Mission, part antique, somehow Sophie had made it all work beautifully, from the western prints on the walls to the Oriental carpet on the broad-planked floor.

She'd like her own place, her own apartment, but the Hacienda de Alegria was so large that it would be difficult to explain to her mom and dad that she felt cramped, felt the need for her own space. Especially now, with Meredith only back at the ranch for less than two weeks. It had never been right to leave Joe, who had been so unhappy, and it couldn't be right to leave now, with Meredith home again at last.

Still, much as they loved her, Emily was beginning to feel smothered by that love. They watched her, as if she were a fragile vase teetering on the edge of a mantel, ready to fall, smash into a million pieces on the hearth. And now not only were her parents watching her, but Dr. Martha Wilkes was also here, living in the house, eating at the table, being so nice and kind and caring.

The woman was wonderful, really. But Emily felt as if she were constantly under a microscope, so that she was careful to always keep her guard up. Keep smiling, keep helping around the ranch, keep her hurt and despair hidden, locked behind her bedroom door, crying only in the shower, so that no one would hear her. She'd been taking an awful lot of showers lately….

Sophie came back into the room and sat down on
the couch with a sigh. “There, that's done. She's been changed and put into jammies, and we'll have blessed peace for about two hours, if we're lucky. Then playtime with Daddy, a bath and dinner—and probably another bath, as Meggie's gotten pretty good at blowing raspberries at us with her mouth full. That's a real treat when she's eating mashed beets, let me tell you. Riv puts her down for the night and sings to her—but you didn't hear that one from me, okay, as he'd probably deny it. He's a wonderful, wonderful father.”

Emily looked at her sister, at the smile on Sophie's lovely face, a face still carrying the scar of a mugger's attack. Funny. When Sophie had first run back to the ranch, to hide there, hide her face, it was assumed by everyone that she'd have plastic surgery the moment the surgeon said it was time. But then she'd gotten pregnant, and then there'd been Meggie to take care of, and it was as if Sophie had forgotten the scar even existed. She was too busy living her life, loving her life, to see it.

“You're happy, aren't you, Soph?” Emily asked, knowing the answer. “I mean, you have a sort of
glow
about you.”

“Oh, dear,” Sophie said, sitting up straight. “It shows? We wanted to wait until Christmas to tell everybody, but if you see it, Mom and Dad are bound to see it.”

“See what?” Emily asked, confused.

“That we're pregnant again,” Sophie announced,
lightly pressing her hands to her flat belly. “We hadn't planned another baby this soon, but now Meggie will have a little brother or sister to play with, and we like that idea. Riv is already planning an addition to the house.”

“That's how Mom and Dad started, isn't it? And the Hacienda de Alegria just grew and grew. I'm so happy for you.” Emily smiled, while inside she sighed, silently crossing off the idea of coming to live in Sophie's spare room for a few weeks—at least until Dr. Wilkes went back to Mississippi. It had been a bad idea anyway, one born of desperation.

Laughing, Sophie answered, “True enough, Em, but Riv and I don't have plans to repopulate the entire earth—just our small part of it. Okay, now tell me what's on your mind, and don't tell me ‘nothing,' because I won't believe it.”

“I'm that transparent, huh? I thought so, which is one of the reasons I was hoping to come hide out with you guys for a while,” Emily heard herself admitting, so that she quickly picked up another peanut butter cookie and shoved half of it into her mouth—right next to her foot.

“You want to get away from the ranch? Why?”

Emily pushed a hand through her hair, tucked a heavy lock behind one ear. “Okay, I'll tell you. Mom's sicced Dr. Wilkes on me, that's why, among other things. The other things I can live with, but Dr. Wilkes gives me the creeps. It's like she can see straight through me.”

“And can she?” Sophie asked, doing a fair job of looking straight through her sister herself.

“Oh yeah. Straight through me, Soph. It's scary.” Emily put both hands to the back of her neck, then pushed up, so that her mass of wavy hair all piled high, then fell to her shoulders once more when she moved her hands, making a chestnut cloud around her head. A quick shake of her head and those curls covered half her cheeks and most of her expression. She hadn't even known what she'd done.

But Sophie did.

“Ah, the old hide-my-face-behind-my-hair trick,” Sophie said, wagging a finger at Emily. “You do know that's a dead giveaway, don't you, sis? Emily's early-warning system reaction to impending trouble. You've been doing that since you were a kid.”

“I have?” Emily went to shake her head, stopped herself. “You're making that up.”

“Oh, really? I've got examples, Emily, and I'm more than willing to share. Like the day Mom came into the living room and asked who had broken the glass in a picture frame in the library, and forgotten to take away the baseball that had done the job. That time Dad asked for volunteers to muck out the stalls because half the hands were down with food poisoning. The day the phone rang and it was Mrs. Hatcher, your second grade teacher, calling to talk to Mom. And it wasn't to say that Emily Colton was her prize student.”

“Mrs. Hatcher. Ugh! The woman accused me of
eating paste. Double ugh! And I'd only taken a small bite.”

“Ah, so you do remember. But the point I'm trying to make is that the moment you felt the slightest bit in danger, you found a way to pull your hair over your face, like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. It was always a dead giveaway. Trouble comes, and Emily hides behind her hair. It's as dependable as Inez's success with peanut butter cookies.”

Emily felt her cheeks flushing, and raised one hand toward her hair before quickly clasping her hands together in her lap. Was her hair always destined to betray her? “I hate my hair,” she said quietly, but with a wealth of feeling. “I should shave it all off.”

“Don't you dare, Emily Colton! You're a beautiful woman, but that hair of yours is absolutely extraordinary. Why, I could pick you out in a crowd of thousands, just from one glimpse of that head of hair. You have enough for five people, all on your one head. And the color! You can't get that out of a bottle, Emily. I know, because I tried one time, in college. I ended up looking like a circus clown.”

“Lots of people could pick me out of a crowd because of this hair of mine,” Emily said, blinking back sudden tears. “Oh, damn. Sophie, what am I going to do? Toby Atkins is dead because of me, and his killer told the police that one of the ways he could track me was because of my hair. People remembered it, remembered me, and Silas Pike was able to find
me because of it. Toby Atkins
died
because Silas Pike was able to find me.”

Sophie was silent for some moments. “Oh, wow,” she breathed at last. “So you're blaming yourself for Toby Atkins's death? Because of your
hair?
”

Emily shook her head, sniffed back tears. “No, not really. Not just the hair. But I should have disguised myself, Sophie, or at least cut my hair, hidden my hair. I'm not stupid, I know my hair is distinctive. I'm guilty because I was arrogant, Sophie. I thought I was so smart. I thought I'd hidden myself brilliantly. And then I didn't tell Toby the truth. He was a sheriff, Sophie. I should have trusted him, told him, and then he would have been prepared when trouble came.”

“You said all this to Dr. Wilkes?” Sophie leaned forward when Emily remained silent. “Emily? You
did
tell her, didn't you?”

Emily shook her head. “I didn't have to. She knows it was all my fault. Everyone knows,” she said, a sudden mental picture of Josh Atkins's hard, condemning eyes making her shiver. She banished that image quickly, knowing it would be back, to haunt her dreams, cloud her days. “That's why she's here, to help me work through my guilt. Like that's going to happen. Like she can somehow change what happened.”

Sophie stood up, walked around the coffee table, sat down on the arm of Emily's chair and put her hand on her sister's shoulder. “You do know, Emily, that you're doing again what you said you did about
your hair. You're
assuming
that Dr. Wilkes believes you're guilty. I doubt she's as harsh a jury as you've been to yourself. Because I see it another way, sis. I see a young woman running scared from a murderer, running for her life, and yet trying to hang on to as much of her former life as she can. I see a young woman who knew Toby Atkins was falling in love with her, and was too honest to lead him on, make him her protector, put him in danger. You nearly died that night, Emily, and Toby Atkins saved your life. He's a hero, Em. Don't demean his sacrifice. Don't make him into a victim, into your victim. He deserves better than that.”

Emily looked up at her sister, then buried her head against Sophie's side, sobbing.

 

Josh Atkins felt like a stalker. Probably because that was what he was doing—stalking Emily Blair Colton. His every free hour was spent with his horse tied to a tree as he crouched behind scrub and looked down on the Hacienda de Alegria. He watched the comings and goings at the ranch, waited for Emily Blair Colton to put up her head, sniff the wind and then leave the safety of her well-guarded sanctuary.

Go somewhere where he could get at her, get to her, remind her that he was here, that he wasn't going away.

He'd picked up the Rollins Ranch mare two days ago, and hung around the Hacienda de Alegria until his presence began drawing questioning looks, then
had to leave before Emily showed up at the stables. Since then, there'd been no reason, no good excuse, to bring him back to the Colton ranch.

So he'd propped himself against a lamp post on Prosperino's main street, hoping to see Emily Colton come to town to go shopping, to have her hair done, to eat lunch with some friends. That hadn't worked, either. Prosperino wasn't that small a town, but the Coltons were pretty obvious by their absence. Not a single Colton had walked or driven down Prosperino's main street, and Josh could be sure of that, as he had memorized the photographs he'd cut out of newspapers covering the story about Patsy Portman.