Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (88 page)

“No, you're not.”
You know how to do this, how to control your breathing, lower your heart rate.

She needed to lie down, close her eyes, get herself centered. She forced herself to turn around, walk into her bedroom and lie on the bed. This was no different from any other panic attack. She could do this.

One scattered thought after another chased through her mind. Did Jack...? Was Rose...? Was Scarlett...? No.
Stop, breathe, focus.

Within minutes, Emily's breathing had calmed, and in a few more, the tightness in her chest had disappeared, and her heartbeat had slowed enough so she was able to get up and return to the bathroom. With shaky hands, she pressed a damp washcloth to her face and forehead. Her stomach was still unsettled, but some food would help.

In the kitchen, she spooned some lukewarm soup into her mouth, bit into her sandwich. The bread had gone crunchy and the cheese was congealed, but none of that mattered because...it just didn't matter. She managed to eat the soup and half the sandwich. She washed it down with the milk that was now the same temperature as the soup.

She contemplated her laptop, debated whether or not to finish reading the article, but decided she had seen enough. Too much, really, so she snapped it shut. She dumped the uneaten half sandwich into the trash, rinsed her milk glass and soup bowl and left them in the sink with her coffee cup from that morning. Finally feeling calm enough to drive, she knew what she had to do. She needed answers, and she was going to get them. She grabbed her bag and keys, let herself out the back door and hurried down the wooden steps to her parking space at the back of the building.

CHAPTER TWENTY

J
ACK
SAT
AT
his desk and opened the lunch his mother had packed for him. He desperately wanted a place of his own, but after returning to Riverton, he had decided to hold off until Emily accepted his proposal. With any luck, he thought, tracing the outline of the horseshoe with the tip of his index finger, that would be this weekend.

His mother's lunches almost made sleeping in his old room worth it, though. He was polishing off a roast beef sandwich when he heard raised voices at the front desk.

“I'll let Chief Evans know you're here,” Karla said.

“No need. I'll surprise him.”

It was Emily. He stood and was halfway around his desk when the door burst open, and there she was, eyes alight with anger.

“Em, what's wrong?”

“Is Scarlett Daniels my mother?”

In that instant, he experienced every cliché he'd ever heard about having his world collapse around him. “Listen, I can explain—”

“She is! You knew, and you didn't tell me. My mother was a homeless drug addict. She had another kid. Rose is my—” The last word was swallowed up by a sob.

“I was going to tell you, but I didn't want to upset you. I was worried about you. And the baby.” He reached for her.

She pulled away, tears streaming down her face. “No. I can't do this. I can't talk to you. Don't touch me.” She swung around and rushed out the door.

“Emily, wait!”

He stood in the middle of his office for a few seconds, silently cursing Rose Daniels for doing this to Emily, and himself for allowing it to happen.

“Everything okay, Chief?” Karla asked from the doorway.

“Not even close.” He grabbed his jacket and brushed past her. “I need to go after her. Lonnie Gable's on patrol this afternoon. Tell him I'll be back as soon as I can, and ask him to keep an eye out for Emily Finnegan.”

* * *

E
MILY
DROVE
THE
short distance from the police station to downtown, fully aware she was exceeding the speed limit and not caring one bit. She wished she dared to go faster, break all the rules. Why shouldn't she? Everyone else did. All the time. And they got away with it.

She had no idea where she was going, though. Not to her apartment. That was the first place Jack would look for her. The barbershop was the second place, so she couldn't rush over there and cry on Fred's shoulder. Besides, he was probably still at the diner, flirting with Rose. What she wanted most was to go home and be with her family, but she couldn't go there, either. How could she break the news to her sisters that their mother was dead? Murdered! That Rose Daniels was their half sister? That the girl must have come to Riverton because she knew about them, and had lied to them about her reason for being here.

Jack had known all along who Rose was, and he hadn't told her. That was unforgivable. He'd known that Scarlett Daniels was her mother and withheld that, too, along with the sordid details of how she had lived and the gruesome events that had led to her death. How could he? What right did he have?

She slowed down when she pulled onto Main Street, drove past the barbershop, the newspaper office and the stupid Riverton Bar & Grill where at this very minute Rose Daniels was coming on to half the men in town.

Emily turned onto Second Avenue and then onto Cottonwood Street and then the next thing she knew, she was stopped in front of Mable Potter's place. She had known the woman most of her life, which meant Mrs. Potter had known her and her family.

Emily had never asked anyone about her mother. Somehow, even as a small child, she had known the subject was off-limits, if not downright taboo. Well, not anymore. She pulled up and parked by the curb. She had promised the elderly woman she would visit again soon, so she shouldn't be too surprised to see Emily on her doorstep. Dropping by to have an afternoon cup of tea with an old friend was a perfectly normal thing to do. And no one would look for her here.

She looped her bag over her shoulder as she climbed out of the car and gazed admiringly at Mrs. Potter's home. She loved the salmon-pink house with its tidy window boxes and flower beds. The front porch had a welcome mat that actually read Welcome. On the front door was a black sign in the shape of a dog with white lettering that read Be Aware of Dog. Perfectly normal.

Emily knocked and waited. She knocked again, but there was no flurry of footsteps, no barking Banjo to greet her. Mrs. Potter and the dog must be out. Emily tried the doorknob, and the door opened. She quickly pulled it shut again. Just because this woman seemed oblivious to the need to lock up her house when she wasn't home didn't give Emily, or anyone, the right to go inside. She went back down the steps and strode to her car. She was standing there, pondering her next move, when she spotted Banjo racing up the sidewalk with his jaws clamped around a pink plastic flamingo.

What on earth? Ken and Marthe Bartlett were the only people in town who had pink flamingos. They lived two blocks away. The dog dashed across the front yard and through the gate, which Emily realized she had left unlatched because it had been unlatched when she arrived. She carefully closed the gate and followed Banjo to the backyard. Sheets and pillowcases flapped on the clothesline, a pair of aluminum lawn chairs with faded green webbing had been unfolded on the tiny patio by the back door, and Banjo's bright yellow tennis ball lay on the neatly trimmed lawn. Perfectly normal.

The dog deposited the lawn ornament on the grass and gazed up at her, tail wagging, as though expecting a reward. Finally, the penny dropped. Mrs. Potter must have forgotten to shut the gate when she went out, and Banjo had gone out on his own. “Banjo, did you steal the Bartletts' flamingo?” Was he the garden-gnome thief? The dog grabbed his tennis ball and dropped it at her feet. As she reached for it, he snapped it up and dashed away.

“
Silly dog. I'm not going to chase you.” She would sit here in the sunshine, wait for Mrs. Potter to come home and find a way to ask if she knew anything about the other things that disappeared around town. Besides, this was the last place Jack would look for her. She settled into one of the chairs, leaned back and closed her eyes. Her phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

Emily, where are you? We need to talk. I can explain everything. Love, Jack

Love
, Jack. Right. Because when you loved someone, you withheld life-changing information about a person's family. Jack Evans wasn't in love with her. He was in love with doing the right thing. Or what he perceived to be the right thing, including making decisions on her behalf. Her phone buzzed again.

You okay? Jack's looking for you. The guy is frantic. Fred

Great. Now he was dragging her friends into this mess. Another message popped up.

Sweetie, what's happening? Jack called and he's looking for you. It sounds pretty urgent. Call him, OK? Call me, too. Annie

Stop already! Emily turned off the phone—something she seldom did—and shoved it into her bag. She settled her gaze on the garden shed and noticed that, unlike her previous visits, the door was ajar. She crossed the yard and stepped inside.

The space was dimly lit and smelled of dust and garden fertilizer with a hint of gasoline. As her eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine to the shed's dark interior, Emily began to make out items. A lawn mower and gas can stood on one side. Next to those, a wheelbarrow. Gardening tools hung from hooks across the back wall. Low shelves spanned the other side wall, cluttered with plant pots, coiled garden hoses, an ancient watering can. On the top shelf there was a garden gnome. And another garden gnome, and another, as well as a pair of black rubber boots, a welcome mat, a trowel and a garden stake that read “Weed It and Reap.” All items that anyone might expect to find in any garden shed in Riverton. She squinted and gasped. But a window-washing squeegee?

Emily picked it up and carried it outside into the sunlight for a closer look. Written on the handle with black magic marker—Gabe's Gas 'n' Go. She carried it back inside and set it on the shelf.

So, Banjo was the thief. But why would Mrs. Potter stash these things in her shed? She had been very absentminded lately, a little confused even. There was only one way to find out. Emily would wait for her to come home.

The wait seemed endless, leaving her with nothing to do but replay the devastating events of the past hour. It was too much. Rose, her mother, Jack. Her sisters and father, who still didn't know the truth.

Emily took out her phone and turned it on. Fourteen missed messages. She turned it off, leaving the messages unread, and shoved it back into her bag. She already knew who they were from and what they said. She couldn't deal with any of them right now.

From inside the house, she heard a door open and close. Banjo barked and raced up the back stairs. The door opened, and Mrs. Potter stood in the doorway, beaming at Emily. If she was surprised to see Emily, she didn't let on.

“Hello, dear. Isn't this a lovely surprise?”

“Hi, Mrs. Potter. I dropped by for tea, but you weren't home so I decided to wait. It's so peaceful out here.”

At least it had been. Banjo grabbed the flamingo and raced a full circle around the backyard, then brought it back but refused to relinquish it.

“Oh, dear. Not another one. I don't know where he finds these things,” Mrs. Potter said. “Would you like to stay for tea? I'll put the kettle on. Banjo, you stay out here and keep the squirrels out of the yard.”

Having no place else to go and wanting to find a gentle way to broach the subject of the items she had found in the shed, Emily followed the woman inside.

“This is a lovely surprise.” Mrs. Potter filled the kettle and plugged it in. “Have a seat, dear. It'll take me just a minute to make the tea. If I'd known you were coming, I would have baked you a red velvet cake.”

The way Emily was feeling right now, she could devour a whole cake all by herself. After tea, she would go out to the farm, she decided. She could gorge herself on Annie's muffins, cookies and strudel, then haul herself up to her old room and curl up under the covers and succumb to a food coma.

“Your cake is always a treat, but tea will be fine.”

Mrs. Potter went through the ritual of readying the teapot, setting out cups and saucers, teaspoons and the sugar bowl. She filled the creamer. This time she left the sugar bowl on the table instead of putting it in the fridge. She picked up her purse, which she had set on the kitchen table when she came home, and moved it to the counter by the canisters.

“This is a lovely surprise,” she repeated. “It's been ages since we've seen each other. You should come by more often.”

“I'll try to do that,” Emily said. There was no point to reminding the woman it hadn't been that long since her last visit.

The kettle whistled. Mrs. Potter filled the teapot and popped a faded tea cozy over it after setting it on the table.

“How's your daughter?” Emily asked. “Is she planning another visit?” Her daughter, Libby, had followed in her mother's footsteps and become a teacher, which meant she would soon be on summer vacation.

Mrs. Potter's face darkened. “I don't know. She might, but if that husband of hers has any say in the matter, she'll try to put me in a home, and then they won't have to bother with me anymore.”

“I'm sure she would never do that.” Although Emily suspected that may well be the plan.

Mrs. Potter poured the tea. Emily lifted the lid of the sugar bowl and quickly clamped it down again, startled to see a set of keys inside.

“Almost empty,” she said, getting up and moving to the counter, taking the sugar bowl with her. “I'll refill it for you.” With her back to her host, she discreetly removed the keys and set them next to the woman's purse, then went through the motions of opening a canister and scooping sugar into the bowl. “There we go,” she said, returning to the table. “So, I was wondering about something.”

“What's that, dear?”

“I see Banjo came home with a lawn ornament. Actually, a number of people around town have reported things missing from their yards and gardens.”

The elderly woman didn't say anything, but her expression spoke volumes.

“And I noticed you have all the same items in your shed.”

“Oh, my. I was hoping no one would find out.”

“You haven't heard anyone talking about it? No one's told you about my blog?”

Mrs. Potter looked confused. “What's a blog?”

“Nothing, it's not important. I just wondered how all those things ended up here. Is it Banjo?”

The woman sighed. “Yes, it's that darn dog. Libby gave him to me so I would have some company, but he's so full of beans. I don't like to go out at night but I have to let him out, you know, to do his business before I go to bed. Sometimes I guess I forget to close the gate, and the rascal gets away. When that happens, he always comes home with something.”

Emily pressed her lips together to prevent her face from spreading into a smile. She hadn't allowed herself to speculate on the identity of the garden-gnome thief but if she had, Mrs. Potter's dog would not have come to mind.

“You won't tell Libby, will you? She'll put me in a home for sure if she finds out about this.”

Emily's heart went out to the poor woman. She was confused, at least part of the time, and lonely all the time. As Emily formulated a plan to help the woman, she also knew she would have to contact Libby and have a talk with her about her mother. She was lucky to have a mother, so surely she would do the right thing. “I won't breathe a word, I promise. If it's okay with you, I will make sure everything is returned to its rightful owner, but you need to promise me something, too.”

“What's that, dear?”