A Trace of Memory, page 17
Emma finally realized how utterly she had failed. Somehow, Blake must have figured out what his wife had intended and had taken steps to thwart her plans. That didn’t explain why Robbie hadn’t turned him in, too, and thereby escaped going to jail, but a lot more details were beginning to make sense.
Emma had evidently been captured before she’d had a chance to flee. Sissy had ended up stuck with a guilty father who didn’t deserve her, while innocent Robbie had been carted off to jail. Where was the justice in that?
Caught in a whirlpool of blame and overcome by the realization that she had failed the one person who had relied upon her completely, Emma covered her face with her hands to stifle sobs of despair.
Suddenly, she was sinking. Floundering. Reaching out for help and unable to touch the hands of the countless rescuers who were trying to stop her fatal descent into an abyss of guilt and despondency.
A petrifying courtroom scene unfolded. The judge was not only robed all in black, his face was that of a bird of prey. Instead of Robbie, Emma stood before him in shackles. Her crimes were unspeakable. Her culpability evident. There was no one to vouch for her, nobody who was willing to take her part or even listen to her useless explanations.
Nevertheless, she attempted a rebuttal. The judge banged his gavel, silencing her.
Faces of the jurors were masked as they hurled rocks and insults at Emma, hitting her over and over again until she sank to the hard floor.
They were going to kill her for being a poor friend, for failing to rescue an innocent child, and she could not fault them for doing so.
Covering her head with her arms and trying to fend off the blows that kept coming, she waited for the end.
SEVENTEEN
Travis pinned Emma’s wrists to keep her from punching him as she lashed out at unseen foes.
“We have to wake her up,” Cleo insisted.
“She came out of this by herself the last time,” he countered. “I don’t know whether it will hurt her to let it go that long again, or not.”
“Well, she can’t carry on like that for much longer. She’s liable to pull a muscle.”
“Or I will,” he said. “I can’t believe how strong she is when she’s like this.”
“Adrenaline,” Cleo offered. “A body can do just about anything when it’s scared. Even lift a car off somebody. Unless you’re ready to be tossed across the room, you’d best say something to wake her.”
Out of logical arguments, he had to agree. “Emma?” His volume increased. “Emma! Wake up.”
Although she continued to fight as if her life depended upon it, she did seem to be catching her breath.
Again, more gently, he called, “Emma. Emma, open your eyes. It’s Travis. You’re safe.”
When he saw rapid flickering of her lashes, he was so thankful he almost lost the last smidgen of his tenuous self-control. “Emma? Come back to me, Emma. Please?”
Blinking, she opened her eyes more fully. It took long seconds for recognition to appear in her wide gaze. As soon as it did, he let go of her wrists.
She apparently realized she’d been weeping because she used the backs of her hands to dash away the tears. Her lips were parted and trembling, her breathing ragged. Little wonder, he mused, since she’d fought her unseen enemies like a tiger.
Cleo leaned closer to present a handful of tissues. “Here, dear. Wipe your face. You’re back with us.”
“I—I thought...”
“We know,” Travis said tenderly. “We watched you dreaming. Can you remember more, now?”
Emma appeared pensive, then pushed herself into a sitting position. “Yes! Yes, I can. Robbie did take the blame because Blake threatened her, but she also named the guy in the fancy Western jacket as the drug supplier. We can probably quit looking for him. He’s supposed to have landed in jail, too.”
“Good. We have one less enemy to worry about,” Travis remarked. “What else?”
He could have sworn he glimpsed a flash of insight that came to her and disappeared in an instant. Frowning, he said, “You did remember more.” It was not a question.
“I suppose so. It’s just so confusing.” Emma pressed the tips of her fingers against her temples. “I saw myself on trial instead of Robbie. I failed her. She asked me to look after Sissy and I acted too slowly. Blake got wind of the plan and locked me up before I could run away with her.”
“Where was that? Did you see?”
Emma’s brow knit as if she were in pain. “No. Not yet. Maybe the next time...”
“No,” Travis said flatly, taking one of her hands and cradling it. “You’re not going to put yourself through that again. It’s too dangerous.”
There was a catch in his voice when he added, “I thought I’d lost you for good, this time.”
* * *
Emma saw little reason to argue with him. She was in no hurry to return to the torture of her nightmares, either. Since she now knew enough to bait Blake into returning to accost her when she had witnesses, she was satisfied. Sort of.
It did bother her to be keeping a few details from Travis and Cleo, but she rationalized that by reminding herself how she had endangered their lives in the first place. There was no sense compounding the sin by dragging them deeper into her muddled-up plans. If they worked, fine. If they failed, she, alone, would take the fall.
Waiting until Travis and his aunt were settled in their beds and the house had been quiet for over half an hour, Emma sneaked out of her room and tiptoed down the stairs, taking care to avoid the steps that squeaked and hoping Bo’s light weight wouldn’t affect them as he accompanied her.
She had intended to use the wall-mounted phone in the kitchen until she realized it might make noise. Cleo had left her cell on the counter so Emma chose to borrow it, instead.
A call to the offices of the Serenity News resulted in a recorded message. Thankfully, there was an alternate number given for nighttime emergencies.
Hands trembling, Emma jotted down that number and stared at it. She had to find just the right person to write her story—someone who would faithfully report the necessary information without cluttering it up with so much detail it tipped Blake off to her ruse.
She dialed. The call went through. A sleepy, grumpy man barked, “What?”
“Hi. This is Emma Landers. I hate to bother you, but I’m trying to reach the young woman reporter who asked me for an exclusive story this past Sunday at church. Might you have her number?”
Apparently stubbing his toe or falling over something that banged in the background, the man was muttering when he returned. “It’d better be a real scoop if Marcie expects me to ever do this for her again.” He read off a full name and number. “You tell her what I said, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.” Emma couldn’t help smiling. So far, so good. Now, all she had to do was reach this Marcie and hand her the story on a silver platter. No reporter would turn down a fascinating tale like hers. Not in a million years.
Emma was growing more certain than ever of her success. This plan was going to work. It had to.
She stared out into the night to give herself a moment’s respite. It was easy to picture the farmyard and pastures as they appeared in daylight. The rustic beauty of the scene was unforgettable. A memory to be treasured.
So was Travis, she added, sobering and heaving a sigh. By the time all this was over and she’d either succeeded or failed, he would probably hate her for taking matters into her own hands. Nevertheless, she had to handle this her way if she intended to keep him safe. The mere thought of putting that sweet man in more danger made her head ache and her stomach knot. None of this was his fault. He shouldn’t have to risk his life because of her mistakes.
But he would, she reasoned. Once Travis heard she was planning to make herself a target in order to lure Blake Browning into committing another crime, he’d either try to thwart her or insist on going along. Neither choice was acceptable. She had gotten herself into this mess and she’d get herself out. Period.
Using the light from the cell phone to see the newest numbers on the scrap of paper, Emma dialed Marcie.
As soon as the young woman answered, Emma started to talk, pausing only occasionally to answer questions.
“Will this appear in the paper soon?” Emma asked.
“A week from Wednesday,” Marcie replied, sounding ecstatic. “I wish you’d agreed to talk to me sooner. I’ve missed today’s deadline for new copy and we only go to press once a week. My boss is a real stickler for proper procedure. Hates to bend the rules.”
“I gathered as much when I called him to get your number,” Emma said, disheartened. “Just do your best. The sooner the better.”
“Sure will. And thanks, Ms. Landers. My editor will be speechless when he reads this.”
Let’s hope he’s not the only one, Emma thought, ending the call with a polite goodbye. Travis would be able to see it at the same time Blake did, of course, but by that time her moves would be in play. She’d have left the house and gone for a daily walk in the woods as she’d told the reporter was her habit. Harlan and Adelaide would be standing by to nab Blake as soon as he grabbed her. And they’d be able to arrest him for assault and attempted kidnapping in Arkansas, at the very least.
More than satisfied and so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, she gave Bo a pat on the head and led him upstairs again.
Early next week, as soon as she got the opportunity to make another private call, she’d notify the sheriff’s office of her scheme and enlist Harlan’s help. She didn’t dare tell him too soon or he might try to stop her and ruin everything.
Emma yawned and stretched, then headed for her room. Hopefully, she’d be able to keep Travis—and Cleo—in the dark for that short a time.
* * *
Something about Emma’s manner had Travis as edgy as a barefoot hunter in a nest of copperheads. All he could imagine was that she had been so traumatized by her last nightmare she had pulled back and become a prisoner of her introspection. Again.
He’d consulted Samantha about his new concerns, of course, and had been assured that Emma’s mind simply needed more time to heal itself. That was not good enough for him, yet he knew if he suggested she see a psychologist or psychiatrist she’d go ballistic.
Biding his time and remaining silent about her evident problems was extremely difficult, particularly when he noticed that Bo and the other dogs had begun treating her differently. Did the animals sense the change in her, too? Was that possible?
Sure. Why not? Dogs operated on a different plane than humans did and were instinctively aware of minute alterations in their world. That was what made them good guards, while faithfulness kept them at home.
Watching Bo slink up to Emma with his tail between his legs and his head lowered, Travis had to comment.
“Have you noticed how funny that dog is acting?” he asked her.
She was stroking the hound’s broad forehead and scratching behind his pendulous ears while sitting on the top step of the back porch. “Um. Maybe. I hope he’s not sick.”
Since the old dog and Emma were taking up so much room on the narrow step, Travis leaned a hip against the wooden railing and struck a nonchalant pose. “I think he’s okay physically. He just seems depressed.”
That brought a chuckle from her and a wag of the hound’s tail in response. “Seems to be a lot of that going around,” she quipped before sighing deeply. “I’m so worried about Sissy I can hardly stand it.”
“The police have been looking for Browning’s car. Around here, it should stand out like a sheep in a herd of Angus cattle.”
Emma got to her feet and brushed off her jeans. “That’s obviously not enough. It’s already been three days since Blake took her.”
Travis considered putting his arm around her shoulders to offer comfort, then disregarded the notion. There had been a few times lately when he’d been so certain she needed his moral and physical support he’d offered it without qualms. This was not one of those times.
“I have to make a run to the feed mill this morning,” he said, purposely changing the subject. “Is there anything I can get you while I’m in town?”
Seeing her countenance brighten, he had hopes she might actually ask to go with him, although he wasn’t sure whether or not he should let her. If she went along, she could be in danger from the men who had been harassing her. If he left her here, with Cleo, the same thing was true. Travis’s true dilemma was not where Emma was—it was the fact that he might not be close at hand if she needed him.
“Would you mind picking up a cell phone for me?” she asked. “We’d planned to get one before. With all the confusion at that store, I totally forgot.”
“Absolutely,” he said, glad to finally have something concrete to do for her.
She was still standing there, so close yet so far. The actual distance between them was mere feet; the emotional distance could have been measured in light-years.
He started to reach for her, meaning only to pat her arm for moral support as any friend might do. Instead, the moment his hand moved she stepped into the embrace he had been yearning for.
Arms slipping around his waist, her cheek resting against his chest, Emma hugged him tightly. “You’re the best, you know that?” she murmured.
It was a pleasure to return her affection. “Hey, if I’d known that promising to buy you something would have brought this on, I’d have done it more often.”
When she lifted her gaze to join with his, there were unshed tears misting her beautiful blue eyes. He raised a hand and cupped her cheek the way he had when he’d first seen the bruise. It and the other physical reminders of her ordeal were nearly gone. Too bad the mental bruises lingered.
“What is it, Emma? What’s wrong?” he asked, keeping his tone low while his emotions roiled.
“Everything. Nothing.” She spoke so softly he almost couldn’t hear her.
“Do you want me to stay with you? I can put off the trip to the feed mill until tomorrow. It’s starting to cloud up, anyway, and I don’t want to haul sacks of feed in the rain.”
“No.” Shaking her head, she eased away. “You need to keep taking care of your animals and doing whatever you always do. Cleo and I will be fine while you’re gone.”
“Harlan has been sending patrol cars by pretty often. It’s just that I hate to leave you.”
“I’ve really messed up your life, haven’t I?”
That statement and her doe-eyed expression were enough to spur him to lean down and kiss her. He hadn’t meant the kiss to be more than a friendly overture, a symbol of forgiveness, yet when he felt her lips softening and trembling beneath his, he was so moved he made it more. Much more.
When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, Travis was lost. What had begun as a chaste kiss deepened into an expression of all the feelings he’d been suppressing, all the pain he’d felt when she’d left him, all the times he’d prayed for the Lord to bring her home.
Breathing unevenly, he cupped her cheeks in both hands, lifted her face and gazed deeply into her eyes. There was love there. He could see it.
But there was also something more. A sadness, perhaps. An unfulfilled longing that he didn’t know how to deal with.
So confused and so in love he could hardly think straight let alone speak coherently, he took a step backward. “I think I’d better get going.”
Emma seemed relieved. “I think so, too. Will you be gone long?”
“I don’t plan to be. I’m going to Serenity Feed, then to the store for your phone. If the rain holds off I’ll stop and see Thad Pearson, too. He took over his brother’s business out by the airport.”
“I remember the Pearson family. Wasn’t Thad a marine?”
“Yes. Since Harlan confiscated my gun, I figured maybe Thad could loan me one.”
Emma’s eyelids lowered, masking her emotions as she said, “I hope you never need to use it.”
“Me, too, but it pays to be prepared.”
He pulled her close again to place a brief, parting kiss on her forehead, then released her and reached into his pocket to fist his keys.
As he descended the porch stairs, heading for his farm truck, he wondered if Emma was as in awe of their mutual kiss as he was. Measuring their teenage affection against what they had just shared was akin to comparing a mouse to a lion, a pinch of salt to a ton of sugar.
He’d been right about Emma all along. They did belong together. Somehow, they’d have to figure out a way she could have her career and still be his wife, because she was not going to get away from him again.
Not this time.
Not ever.
EIGHTEEN
“The mail just came,” Cleo shouted. “Look what’s in the local paper! You’re famous.”
Emma’s heart leaped into her throat and lodged there. It couldn’t be. Marcie had sworn they’d been too late to get the story into this edition.
She snatched the newspaper from Cleo and stared at the front page. It was there all right. Every word of it. And she wasn’t ready!
“Oh, mercy.”
“I know how you must feel,” the older woman commiserated, frowning as she scanned the article over Emma’s shoulder. “I can’t understand how Harlan or Samantha could have let this happen.”
Emma knew guilt was written all over her face as she looked up. “They didn’t. I did. Only it wasn’t supposed to come out until I’d had a chance to brief Harlan and set up a sting.”
“A what?” Cleo grabbed her arm. “You’re responsible for this?”
“Afraid so. I called the reporter myself. She promised me this couldn’t possibly show up in print for another week because we’d missed this week’s deadline.”
