Connecting Strangers (Discovering Emily) (4 page)

“I don’t need a room, Francine. I just need to get to a bank this morning so I can get on the road.” And get as far out of Juniper Springs as possible.

She edges one hip against the stainless steel counter and folds her arms. “Who ya running from?”

Now my stomach is so tight I’m physically ill. “What makes you think I’m running from anyone?” What is it about this town that makes everyone so intuitive? First Adam and now Francine. How many other women like me came through here? Was this town a stop-over for women running from boyfriends and husbands?

“Cause I’ve seen that hunted look before. Used to see it in the mirror myself.”

That catches my attention. I couldn’t see Francine in an abusive relationship. She seems far too strong and outspoken to ever tolerate a man putting his hands on her. “Really?”

“Yep.” She strolls to a large refrigerator and pulls out a carton of orange juice. “Have a seat, and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

A part of me wants to stay while common sense is urging me to get going. I may end up having to walk to find a bank, but if I can get my hands on some money, I could put Mark far behind me…at least for a while. Getting the money is a big if. Even if I do manage to find a sympathetic teller, Mark could have already frozen the account. His first thought would be to disable me in some way.

What he doesn’t know is escaping him is something I have to do, no matter what it takes. Even crippled, I’ll limp my way to the West Coast if I have to. Francine hooks her foot around the leg of a stool and pulls it forward. “I said sit. You need to eat regardless of whether you’re staying or going. And I’m still a damned good cook even if I don’t do much of it now as I used to since Art started hogging the kitchen.”

In spite of my reservations, I sit and watch her efficiently whip up an omelet and toast all while chattering on about what she loves about Juniper Springs.

The people are top on her list. They care about one another. Look out for each other. That translates to “can’t mind their own business” to me, but I stay quiet. I learned enough about nosy neighbors in Broomtown, and with the information she’s giving me, this town is the last place I’d consider staying.

“They saved my life, ya know.” She stops stirring the grits long enough to look at me.

Her statement yanks me back to the conversation. “Who did?”

“These people. When I came back here—I’d left right out of high school—I was running from a bad relationship, thinking I was never going to be the same. But, to everyone here, I was the same old Francine they’d known since grade school. When I was ready to crawl into a hole, they rallied around me. Especially Art.” Her eyes soften. “He was right there, ready to beat the hell out of my ex. Of course, Adam, who wasn’t a cop back then, but he still had that ‘got to help everyone attitude’ stopped him, but I thought it was sweet that he made the effort.”

While she rattles on, a wistful smile on her face, I sink into her story, imagining that could be me one day…except I don’t have a brother willing to risk his life for me nor do I have a town to run back to. Broomtown
is
my town, and since Mark’s family owns it, leaving it behind is all I
can
do.

“You didn’t tell me who you’re running from.” Francine slides an omelet onto a white, china plate and sits it in front of me before lifting the pot of grits off the stove and setting it atop the counter. She sits across from me, her elbows on the table.

I open my mouth with every intention of lying. It’s best for everyone concerned, but the words coming out are true. And before I can rein my mouth in, I’m horrified to realize I’ve told her about Mark. I reach across the countertop and grip her hand. “Francine, you have to promise me you won’t tell this to anyone. Please.”

She pats my hand and gives me a sympathetic look. “Oh, honey, I won’t tell a soul. I know how I felt when I came running home. I was always looking over my shoulder, knowing any second Raymond was going to come busting through those doors. I hadn’t been here a year when I got the news he’d been killed in a hunting accident, and God as my witness, I cried tears of relief.”

I imagine what my life would be like if Mark wasn’t a part of it, if he could somehow be permanently erased, and I sense Francine’s relief. When she smiles at me, I have to fight back the envy. “I’m glad things have worked out for you.” I let her hear the doubt in my voice because I don’t want her thinking Raymond’s death can be my salvation, too.

We finish eating in silence, though I feel her gaze on me every so often. I know she wants me to tell her more, maybe even to ask for help. But I won’t involve anyone else in my train wreck of a life. I start to slide off the stool and realize my leg is bleeding again, and the blood is sliding down the side of my thigh. It had been too soon to disturb the bandage.

I quickly swipe the edge of the towel over the stool once I stand. “Francine, you wouldn’t happen to have some bandages, would you? I cut myself shaving before I left, and it started bleeding again in the shower.” The lie is a weak one, but it’s all I have.

“Sure, honey. We have to keep plenty of them around here. Lord knows how many close calls Art’s had with those butcher knives.” She chuckles and retrieves a box of various-sized bandages from the cabinet next to the back door. “Help yourself.”

After carrying my plate to the industrial-sized, stainless steel sink, I wash my hands, careful to keep my back to Francine. With my hand pressed against my thigh to staunch the flow of blood, I return to the bathroom.

The branded flesh isn’t healing well. After I wipe the blood away, I can see it’s angry red and puffy with blisters surrounding the initials. I doctor it the best I can, but if it doesn’t heal soon, I’ll need a real doctor. God only knows what those keys of Mark’s had been through. It isn’t any wonder my skin looks like this.

After stuffing the towel in the very bottom of a hamper filled with aprons and napkins, I put some of the bandages in my pocket and head back to the kitchen. Francine’s at the sink, a gaudy green, white, and purple apron tied around her waist. I tell her I have to get something from my car. Really, I need air and some space. She’s the first person I opened up to, and as much as I want to trust her, life has taught me some pretty hard lessons about people. The ones you think you can trust are the ones you should trust the least.

I step out into the frosty morning, shivering a little as I walk to my car which looks abandoned in the far back parking lot. The dent on the back passenger door is a stark reminder of Mark’s temper. He hadn’t wanted my parents to give me the car, but they hadn’t asked his permission. In a fit of rage, he’d flung a hammer at it. I’d told my parents someone had pushed their grocery cart against the door, but I don’t think my father ever believed it.

“You need a coat.” Adam intersects with me from around the corner of the building, and my breath catches.

Does the guy ever go anywhere else? I give him what could barely pass for a smile and keep walking. But my body isn’t interested in ignoring him. My skin begins to tingle, and wispy shocks dance down my spine. It’s a sense of awareness I should ignore. I
have
to ignore if I’m going to get out of this town without any trouble.

“You want to tell me why you’re doing your damnedest to hide who you are, Emily?”

I stop long enough to glare at him before continuing my trek. “I don’t want any trouble from you, Sheriff, but I don’t feel like I should have to tell you my whole life story, either.”

“I don’t need the whole story. How about just part of the truth?” His long strides outdistance mine, and he’s at my car before I can get there. “Like why you didn’t tell me your real name. Is Emily Blakely it, or is that another fabrication, too?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Usually when someone hides something as simple as their name, they’re either into trouble or hiding from it. I’m trying to find out which one applies to you.” He shifts his hip against the front door of the Volvo and removes his jacket. “Here.”

I debate taking it, but another shiver works its way down my body so I accept it. The collar smells warm and woodsy, like I imagine a real man would smell. When I look back up at Adam, he’s staring at me, his perfect, hazel eyes fixated on my face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I shouldn’t want to know, but my insides are in turmoil watching him watching me. And that look isn’t all about professionalism.

“I’m pretty good at reading people, Emily.” He pushes off the car and takes a step toward me. I had stopped close to him so there’s no more room between our bodies. “And I don’t see you as a criminal.”

“Guess that means you think I’m running from trouble.” Denying it serves no purpose. We both know I’d be lying.

He surprises me by taking hold of the edges of his jacket and pulling me closer. My breasts bump against his chest and instantly respond to the proximity. “Are you?” His voice goes deeper.

My tongue is stuck, and I try to convince myself it’s only because he’s asking questions I don’t want to answer. But my body is telling me something different. It’s noticing the muscles straining against Adam’s tan shirt, the smoothness of his clean-shaven face, and the fullness of his lips.

He stands a good eight inches taller than I do, maybe more. If I lean in, I could nestle my head against the curve of his neck. A curse resounds in my head, a warning telling me I can’t want these things. Juniper Springs is a stop over until I can put some more miles between me and Mark.

But every ounce of femininity within me is drawing me toward Adam. My gaze lifts, connects with his, and I’m losing the battle to fight against this insane attraction I feel.

“Emily?” Hands now skimming my spine, Adam draws me in, wrapping me in the web of his warmth. “Since you obviously don’t want to talk about your name, how about letting me buy you a drink tonight?”

Like a date? Is he talking about a date? Mark will kill us both.
“That’s not a good idea.” His question erases any doubts I have about his loyalties. No way he’s on Ike Metzger’s payroll and asking me out. No one who’s met the sultan of Broomtown is going to go up against him. Not even someone with a badge and a gun.

Adam isn’t moving, and I’m getting flustered. “You think you might let me go anytime soon?” Though my voice is light, I’m a ball of nerves.

“It’s not in my future plans, no.” His teasing brings a smile to my face, and under any other circumstance, I might like Adam Madison. A little too much.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.” His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, and my shivers have nothing to do with the cold air. “I wonder if you know how pretty you are, Emily Whatever-Your-Real-Last-Name-Is.”

I tuck a lock of still damp hair behind my ear and lift one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. Vanity was frowned upon while I was growing up, and even though I was named Homecoming Queen, I wasn’t allowed to keep the trophy out in the public eye. That kind of teaching instilled a determination to focus on other things besides my face. I would have, too, had I not allowed Mark’s injury to keep me in Broomtown.

“Hey,” Adam tips my face up with two fingers. “Did I say something wrong?”

Everything he’s saying is wrong, but I can’t tell him why. “I’ve just never met a man who’s as bold as you are.”

“I don’t believe in tiptoeing around. It wastes time.”

“What if I
am
a criminal, and your instincts are off?” I surprise myself with the question. All caution has fled, and I’m finding that the closer I’m to Adam, the closer I want to be. It’s a dangerous predicament.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to help you get a damned good lawyer.” He cups the back of my head, and I know he’s going to kiss me.

Pull away! My mind screams the command. When I ignore it, common sense demands I push him back, but my hands move across up his arms instead. His biceps are thick with muscle, and I can imagine feeling so perfectly safe with him.

My head tips back, and he reads my acceptance. Just in case he doesn’t, I lean in. I have this gnawing desire to taste him, and he obliges me, his large hands framing my face when his lips lower to mine.

The kiss is both soft and gentle, an exploration and a promise. I slide my hands across his chest, resting my palm over his heartbeat. It’s erratic. Like mine. I sip from his lips, tasting hunger and passion, and I want more.

He turns me in his arms, pressing me back against the cold steel of my car. His hands begin to roam my body. I should stop, but the heat of his fingertips against my ribcage feels too good. And I want to explore, too.

The knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach slowly unfurls, and pure, sweet warmth floods through my veins as Adam licks the corner of my mouth. My breath escapes in a shudder that becomes a moan. With my nails digging into the sleeves of his shirt, I stand on tiptoe to deepen the kiss, and he pulls me in tighter.

I’m surrounded by hard muscle and heat, and I’m on the verge of igniting. Sensations I can’t name envelop me. Adam cups my ass and lifts me so I’m even with him. My legs go around his waist while my hands frame his face. Nothing should taste this good. But he does. A combination of mint and coffee.

His tongue dances with mine, and the pull reaches all the way to my toes. I’m liquid in his arms. The burn intensifies as I run my fingers through the short strands of his sandy-brown hair.

“Sheriff, I hate to interrupt…”

I jerk at the intrusion, but Adam merely lifts his head and turns it toward the voice. “What is it, Gary?” He slowly lowers me so my feet can touch the ground.

“I’ve been trying to reach you on the radio.” Gary’s face is red, his cheeks practically glowing. “We..uh..we have a call. Mrs. Bartholomew done changed the locks on her husband again.”

Adam shifts slightly, and I realize he’s trying to hide me from the prying eyes of his deputy. “Isn’t it something you can handle?”

“I would, Sir, but we’re also needed down at the basin, and it’s just you and me until Robinson comes on shift.”

“Fine. I’ll head down to the basin. You take care of the Bartholomews.”