A Trace of Memory, page 14
“It was Blake Browning,” Travis shouted in the open patrol-car window while Emma knelt and hugged the child. “He’s driving a silver sedan with Tennessee plates. He went that way. You can still see his dust.”
The sheriff grabbed his radio and began giving backup officers instructions to intercept their quarry as he continued the pursuit.
Travis turned on his heel, scooped up Sissy without another word and headed for the house. He didn’t have to look behind to know Emma was following. By looking after Sissy, he’d pretty much guaranteed that Emma would stick close.
“Are you hungry?” Travis asked, directing his question to the child in his arms.
Sissy shook her bowed head.
“You feel pretty hungry to me,” he continued, taking care to speak softly and be very gentle. If Emma’s trauma was any indication of what this poor kid had been through, she must be equally fragile. Perhaps more so, considering her young age and probable lack of background in a loving home environment.
Continuing into the kitchen, Travis smiled. “Let me see your finger?”
Tentative, yet apparently trusting him, Sissy displayed an index finger.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, pretending to test it with a light touch. “That one’s definitely empty. I imagine the others are, too. You need milk and cookies.”
“Cookies?”
That was the first word the girl had spoken to him. His smile grew to a wide grin. “Yup. Homemade. Pretty soon you’ll get to meet Cleo, the lady who baked them, but for right now how about you and Emma and I sit down at the table and do a taste test? I’ll give you one of each kind and you can tell Aunt Cleo which is your favorite when she gets home.”
“Hand washing comes first,” Emma said. “Bring her over to the sink.”
Although Travis did as she’d suggested, he also whispered to Sissy, “Is she always this bossy?”
The child’s head bobbled. She might not be enough at ease to talk much, but thankfully her trembling had stopped.
While Travis held her over the sink, Emma helped her suds and rinse her hands, then she wet the corner of a paper towel and wiped her face. “There. That’s much better.”
He carried Sissy to the table and put her in a chair before pulling a milk carton out of the refrigerator and giving it a shake. “We’re going to need more of this if our house guest stays long,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Emma.
“I suspect she’ll be taken by Social Services as soon as we tell them her story,” Emma said aside, hoping the child couldn’t hear. “Unless you have some objection, I’d like to wait awhile before we report exactly what’s happened.”
“Suits me. Where will she sleep?”
“With me. And Bo.” Emma smiled across the table at Travis, then explained to the girl, “Bo is a wonderful dog who keeps me company sometimes. He’s very smart.”
Sissy cupped a hand around her mouth and leaned closer to whisper to Emma.
“No. He doesn’t bite like the mean dogs your daddy used to have,” Emma said. She looked to Travis and he saw her brow knit. “I remember a little about them. They were chained to trees around the place where I was locked up. I was never afraid of them, but I always worried about Sissy getting too close and maybe getting hurt, so I warned her to keep her distance.”
“That’s a good idea,” Travis agreed. “You should never trust any animal unless you’re already friends or its owner is there to introduce you.”
He noticed that Emma had sobered as she poured the child’s milk. “I want to keep Bo with me—with us—as long as Sissy is here. That way nobody can sneak up on us.”
“Fine. I also think it would be wise to contact Samantha Rochard-Waltham again.”
“Why? Am I sounding more confused?”
“Not at all.” Travis placed a well-worn, red-patterned tin on the table and lifted its lid to display three different kinds of homemade cookies. “Samantha volunteers for CASA.”
“What’s that?”
“Court Appointed Special Advocates for children,” he explained. “A judge will assign one CASA worker per child and that person will speak for abused or abandoned kids who can’t or won’t defend themselves. Sissy is a prime candidate for assistance like that.”
“Not if it means I won’t be able to keep her with me. I promised her mother. Blake has no right to her.”
“In your eyes, maybe not. In the eyes of the law, however, he’s probably the only one who does have parental rights. Robbie’s still in jail, isn’t she?”
He glanced at the child to see if he’d misspoken and found her undisturbed by the mention of prison.
Emma was nodding and making a face. “I’d rather walk barefoot on burning coals than let her go back to him.”
“That probably won’t be necessary,” Travis said. “Particularly if Harlan gets his hands on the guy and his Neanderthal partner pretty soon.” He paused to smile at Sissy and hold up another cookie. “Good, huh?”
She nodded so vigorously she dropped crumbs all over the napkin she’d been using as a makeshift plate.
“Do you want me to phone Samantha for advice while you two finish your snack?” Travis asked.
“I guess you should. Only don’t tell her too much. I want a little more time to remember exactly how I got into this fix in the first place.”
“Meaning?”
Travis could tell by Emma’s expression that she was wrestling with the decision of whether or not to explain, so he waited. And prayed.
Finally, Emma said, “It’s something Blake reminded me of when I was talking to him today. He insists Robbie told me an important secret.” She hesitated and eyed the child, then went on. “I’m supposed to know where she hid some money. Apparently a lot of it. And I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. At least not yet.”
“None?”
“None. Nada. Zilch,” Emma said with a grimace. “I don’t have a clue what Robbie did or didn’t tell me. I can barely remember her face, let alone confidences she may have shared.”
“Mama’s real pretty,” Sissy told her softly. “Pretty like you.”
All Travis could think to say at that moment was, “Amen,” and he figured it was far wiser to keep his mouth shut. He could see how attached Emma was to Sissy and vice versa. The problem was the legality of their relationship. Emma was already in plenty of trouble without running afoul of the law over custody of the child. There had to be a way to protect them both.
The way he saw it, his best choice was to level with Samantha and let her take it from there. She was not only fair, she was acquainted with the rules governing mistreated children. If anybody could figure a way out of this, it was a pro like her.
And in the meantime? In the meantime, he was going to either insist the cops give his gun back immediately or borrow a sidearm from a friend until they did.
Nobody, not a behemoth like Jet or a skunk like Blake, was going to get to Emma—or Sissy—without going through him, first. He’d never been around kids much but this one had gone straight to his heart.
Once, he had wondered if he’d be able to love a child that was Emma’s and not his. Now, he realized it was possible to care deeply about anyone who needed him the way they both did. He would not fail them.
And, God willing, he’d see to it that they had a chance for the future happiness they deserved—with or without him.
Excusing himself from the table, he fisted his phone and stepped out the back door to make his call to Samantha. That’s when he noticed unusual, double-wide tire tracks in the dirt between the house and barn. Tracks from a truck, not the silver sedan. These were just like the ones that had been at the scene of the ATV shooting a few nights before.
Travis reached back inside the house and picked up Cleo’s shotgun. It looked as if someone had circled the house and although the dogs weren’t acting upset at present, he wasn’t willing to take chances.
He put away his phone, checked to make sure the .12 gauge was loaded, and headed straight for the barn.
* * *
Emma had caught Travis’s eye as he’d closed the door behind him for the second time. It was a relief to see him return for the shotgun. There was no sense making himself an easy victim when he had a choice of self-defense. Some folks might not understand country ways, might even call them primitive, but she knew better. When a person was isolated in a rural environment, as they were, it was logical to employ whatever safety measures were necessary.
Sissy had picked up her glass with both hands and was drinking greedily.
“Take your time,” Emma said gently. “There’s plenty more where that came from. You don’t have to hurry.”
“Daddy bought me chocolate milk,” Sissy said.
“Really?” Trying to hide her surprise, Emma smiled. “That’s nice.”
“He said I can have a puppy, too.”
“Did he?”
“Uh-huh. After Mommy comes home.”
The thought of poor Robbie languishing in jail sank Emma’s spirits like a rowboat with a gaping hole hacked in its bottom.
“I wish I could help her do that,” Emma said.
“You can help Daddy,” Sissy told her, pausing to stuff more cookie crumbs into her mouth before grabbing the milk again.
“I can?”
The slim five-year-old nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. He said.”
Feigning a casual reply, Emma leaned an elbow on the table and rested the side of her head in her hand. “Really? That’s great. What else did your daddy tell you?”
“That he misses Mommy. He wants us to go on a vacation with her.”
“Sounds like fun. What did he say I should do to help your mama?”
“Tell him where the treasure is.”
“I see. Anything else?
Sissy’s head bobbed, her tangled curls bouncing in a familiar way that reminded Emma of all the times when she’d worked so gently to pull a comb through the fine, golden strands.
That clear memory was a revelation. She had voluntarily looked after this child. And, for a while, had had no trouble getting along with Blake or the others—as long as they kept their distance.
It was only after Robbie had confided in her why she intended to confess to everything and throw herself on the mercy of the court that Emma’s reactions to the men had changed. She knew the truth! Robbie was innocent and had been threatened, exactly the way Blake had insinuated.
She was also positive that Blake and the others had started out as honest musicians and had not turned to crime until their previous efforts to find success had failed miserably and they’d ended up deep in debt to questionable sources.
One of the most unexpected memories was how happy Blake and Robbie had once been and how they had both loved their daughter. How was it possible for any father to be a doting parent in the beginning, then a few years later use his child as a pawn in a criminal conspiracy?
A picture of his bad teeth popped into her mind and provided an answer. He’d become addicted, probably to meth. It was those desperate urges for more and more drugs that now drove him. That, and probably his outstanding debts; debts he could settle once he got his hands on the cache of stolen money he claimed Robbie had hidden.
Everything was starting to make sense, Emma mused, wishing Travis was present so she could tell him how she was finally putting the clues together.
Then again, she mused, smiling at Sissy, if Travis had stayed with them, the child might not have been relaxed enough to speak so openly.
In retrospect, Emma suspected the little girl had been well coached. And, given that conclusion, perhaps she had not been as clever as she’d thought when she’d smuggled Sissy out of Blake’s car. If he had planned to use his daughter as his spokesperson, perhaps he had intended for her to stay behind all along.
The question then became how much more had Sissy been told to do and where did her true allegiance lie? Yes, she was only five years old. But she was smart as a whip and had been under her father’s wing for longer than Emma liked to consider. Of course she wanted her mother back. It also stood to reason that she loved her father, no matter how abusive he may have been.
Emma cast a loving gaze at the needy child and vowed to help her out of the predicament her father’s perfidy had created. It was not going to be easy. And it was likely that Sissy would misunderstand and end up hating her for what she had to do.
That couldn’t be helped. Emma knew right from wrong, good from bad. Those traits were not open to interpretation as far as she was concerned.
She sighed, realizing one more thing. Keeping Sissy to herself was not in the girl’s best interests no matter how much she would miss and worry about her once she was put into foster care. Travis was right. Again. They needed to involve the authorities and get professional help.
For Sissy’s sake.
And, in the long run, for Robbie’s, too.
* * *
Travis inspected the barn, found nothing amiss and made his call before returning to Emma. This time, he unloaded the shotgun before propping it in its familiar place.
“Good safety measure,” Emma said. “You were gone a long time. What did Samantha say?”
“She’s going to get in touch with a social worker, Brenda Connors, who will contact us at this number and make sure everything is legal.” He held up his cell phone. “In the meantime, we’re supposed to just carry on as we have been.”
“For how long?”
Travis could tell Emma was dreading having to relinquish the child, yet he also realized she’d come to accept the inevitability of saying goodbye. “She didn’t say. I asked her to take her time.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He lowered himself into a chair and propped his elbows on the table. “This has been quite a Sunday. I hope Cleo remembers she promised to pick up fried chicken at Hickory Station on the way home.”
“Do they still make that? It used to be practically everybody’s stop after church.”
“Yup. Still do. It’s a Southern institution.”
“Fried chicken for Sunday dinner or getting it at that gas-station deli?”
Travis gave her a lazy smile. “Both.” His gaze settled on Sissy. Her eyelids were drooping. “I think one of us is ready for a nap.”
Emma nodded and reached over to gently rub the child’s back through her oversize T-shirt. “Judging by the stuff that was crammed into Blake’s car, she may have been sleeping there instead of in a bed. That would explain why she needs a bath and her clothes are dirty.”
“Want me to carry her upstairs for you?”
“No. If she wakes and sees she’s in a strange place she’ll be frightened like I was when I first came here. Put her on the sofa and I’ll keep her company.”
Although he understood Emma’s desire to stay near the girl, he couldn’t envision her being satisfied to sit still and do nothing. “Want me to see if I can scare up a couple of Cleo’s magazines so you’ll have something to read?”
“No,” Emma said, rising and making room so Travis could reach Sissy’s chair. “Bring me the laptop.”
“Have you remembered more?”
“Enough to do another internet search,” she said. “I know Adelaide said we shouldn’t look at other pictures until we’d seen the tapes from the store but we’re sure the guy who grabbed me was Jet, and Ben’s already in jail. That just leaves Blake, who may also be in custody by now, God willing. I want to look up that coffeehouse where the matchbook came from and see if it rings a bell.”
He huffed. “I’d forgotten all about finding that. Sounds like your memory is working better than mine is right now.”
What he didn’t say was how his heart had nearly broken when he’d thought the accelerating car had injured her. Or how fervently he’d prayed when she’d fled from church, gone into shock and ended up in the hospital.
Easily lifting the small child and following Emma to the living room, he wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into a mutual embrace and hold them both closely, protectively, until all danger was past.
He wouldn’t, of course. Emma wouldn’t want him to show so much affection and it might also frighten Sissy, yet Travis could picture them as a family. A real family. One that trusted and relied upon one another the way he had been raised.
Poor kid. His heart went out to her as he gently placed her on the couch and saw her close her eyes almost immediately. He’d never pictured himself as a father before but it was getting easier by the minute. This little girl—and Emma—would make perfect additions to his life.
It was no more than a far-fetched dream, of course. Emma had shown little interest in renewing their romance and the child was bound to be placed in foster care after her father joined her mother in prison.
But...what if Blake got away again? Worse, suppose he escaped prosecution and conviction? What then?
The notion that Emma might never again be totally safe was so strong, so profound, he had to struggle to take a deep breath. To stand back. To turn away from her and leave the room the way his conscience insisted he must.
Every nerve in his body was screaming for him to return. To take Emma in his arms and hold her tight. To rain kisses on her hair the way he had when he’d helped her to her feet outside the church that very morning.
Only this time she’d realize he was kissing her. This time, if he was so foolish as to reveal his burgeoning feelings, he might scare her away for good.
In retrospect, he suspected that was exactly what he’d done when he’d proposed to her years ago. If he hadn’t pressed her and insisted on commitment, maybe she wouldn’t have panicked and run off with the band—and Blake Browning.
For the first time since Emma had been eighteen, Travis was able to stop blaming her for leaving. That should have given him peace but it didn’t. Instead, it showed him how much of the blame was really his.
