The Hopechest Bride (5 page)

Joe put his hands on the arms of his chair, pushed back, and stood. “You're going, right? I've opened my big mouth, stuck my nose in my grown-up daughter's business, and now you're going to take off on your own, just to prove you can do it. I should have kept my mouth shut. Your mother warned me, but I didn't listen. You're just too old to be swayed by one of my famous discussions. Either that, or I'm losing my touch.”

Emily stood on tiptoe and kissed her father's cheek as he came around the desk. “Oh, you'll never lose
your touch, Dad. Trust me on that one. I was shaking in my boots, coming in here with you. I love you, Dad.”

“And your mother and I love you, sweetheart. Remember that when you're camping under those stars. We're here, we'll always be here, and we love you.” He gave her a hug. “Oh, and take your cell phone, okay? You don't have to turn it on unless you need to call us, but please take it with you. It may not work in the hills, but it will work everywhere else.”

Emily blinked back tears as she smiled, nodded. “You're the best, Dad,” she told him, giving him a hug.

“Yes, I am, aren't I?” he teased back at her. “Now go pack, and make sure you're out of here tomorrow before your mother finds out. Just leave us both a note, like the trip is a surprise to everyone—and mention that you're taking the cell phone in case you need to contact us. I'm good, sweetheart, but your mother would have my head if she knew I'd agreed to this. Oh, and if you're not back in three days, I'm sending out a helicopter search. Possibly a platoon of Marines.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said, saluting, then fairly danced out of the study, feeling suddenly free, really free, for the first time in a very, very long time.

 

Josh Atkins had just left the post office, where he kept a box, and was heading for the Rollins Ranch
pickup truck when he saw a flash of pure chestnut red and stopped cold, hardly believing his luck.

He stepped behind the concealing cab of the brightly painted truck, removing his hat so that Emily Colton wouldn't see him if she looked across the street, and watched as she entered the sporting goods store.

Okay, he could go in there. Anybody could go into a sporting goods store. It wasn't as if she'd walked into a lingerie shop or anything—a place where he'd stick out like a sore thumb.

He unlocked the door to the pickup and tossed his small stack of mail onto the front seat. There had been three circulars announcing rodeos in towns along the usual circuit, a letter from a woman whose name sounded familiar but whose face had long since escaped his memory, and a good-sized royalty check from that saddle company he'd done print endorsements for ever since he'd been named one of the ten best all-around riders three years earlier.

Locking the door, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and headed across the street. Pulling open the door to the store, he tipped the brim of his Stetson a few fractions lower over his eyes and stepped inside.

Big store. Bigger on the inside than it had looked on the outside. He bypassed the baseball and football equipment, skirted a rack of bowling balls and made his way toward the rear, where he saw glass cases full of rifles. He veered left when he realized that he couldn't quite see Emily Colton toting a hunting rifle.

That took him to the rather large camping supplies section of the store…and to Emily Colton.

He stepped behind a towering display of camp stoves and listened as she spoke with a sales clerk. “I can't believe I put my sleeping bag away wet, Janice. I was taught much better than that,” she was saying as the clerk grinned and pointed toward a shelf stuffed with sleeping bags. “Talk about
moldy!
Still, it was at least ten years old, and I'll bet there are much warmer and more sophisticated ones now.”

Janice, the sales clerk, said something Josh couldn't hear, and then Emily, who was closer to him, though her back was turned, said, “Oh, just two or three days. I know it might rain, but I'll chance it. I'm riding out into the hills tomorrow morning, if you've got a good sleeping bag for me, one that rolls up small enough to tie on the back of Molly's saddle. Oh, this one is great! Velcro
and
zippers? Janice, you're a genius. By tomorrow night it will be just Molly, me, and the stars—and the fried chicken I've asked Inez to make for me, of course.”

Josh slipped silently into the next aisle, turning his head and pretending a great interest in automatic hot socks.

She was riding out into the hills? Tomorrow morning? Just her and Molly, some fried chicken—and him?

Oh, yes. Definitely him.

Sometimes the gods did smile.

T
he morning dawned gray, but warm. Emily decided to take that as a good sign, but she still turned on the radio to catch the daily forecast. There was a storm forming over the Pacific, but the weathercaster cheerily declared that he'd “bet my sweet bippy” that the threatened storm would head south, missing the Prosperino area.

That was good enough for Emily.

Inez was banging pots in the kitchen when Emily came through, lugging her sleeping bag, her carefully—even skillfully—packed backpack slung over her shoulders.

“There's enough food here for two days, if you don't make a pig of yourself the first day,” Inez said,
handing over a canvas sack that Emily planned to hang from the horn of her Western saddle. “Where's your coat?”

“Hanging on a peg down at the stables,” Emily reminded the woman, “which is exactly where you said I had to keep it, because it always smells like horse.”

Inez pulled a face. “Your slicker?” she asked, obviously on a hunt to find something that Emily had forgotten, just so she could say, “See? What would you Coltons do without me?”

“With my coat.”

“Uh-huh. Plastic sheeting to put under your sleeping bag?”

“Got it. Got it, got a flashlight—with fresh batteries. Got my first-aid kit, got three extra pairs of socks and my heaviest boots, got a paperback book to read, got my handy-dandy automatic fire starter. Okay?”

“Your cell phone,” Inez said, pointing a finger at Emily. “Your father told me to remind you about your cell phone.”

“Damn,” Emily said in exaggerated disgust. “You've done it again, Inez. I completely forgot the cell phone.” She hadn't, but if it made Inez feel better, what was the harm in a little white lie?

“And it's all charged and ready to go?”

Now Emily's grimace turned real. She slipped the backpack from her shoulders and unzipped one of the outside pockets, withdrawing the cell phone. When she turned it on, the battery indicator showed it to be working at only half power. “Well, I'll charge it.”

“Where, Missy? You going to plug it into Molly? I don't think she'd like that. Here,” Inez said, pulling a silver-faced cell phone from her pocket. “Your father told me to give this to you. Now, if you're going, I'd say you'd better get yourself gone. You know your mother gets up early, and neither of us wants to see her blocking the door, her arms stretched out to keep you from leaving.”

“That wouldn't be a pretty sight, would it?”

“No, which is why I'm standing here, trying not to do it myself. There could be a storm, you know.”

“Weather Willie says it's going to miss us, go south.” Emily gave Inez a swift kiss on the cheek, then slipped her backpack over her shoulders once more. “I need this, Inez. I really, really need this.”

“I know,” Inez said, quickly turning her face so that Emily couldn't see her expression—although she had thought she'd seen the quick glint of tears in the woman's eyes. “So you go have a long conversation with the wind and the hills, and get yourself rid of whatever's banging around inside that pretty head of yours. We'd like to see our Emily Sunshine smile again, you know, all of us.”

Emily blinked back quick tears of her own, nodded, slammed her worn Stetson on her riot of chestnut curls and headed toward the stables.

 

Josh looked up at the darkening sky, and wondered if Emily Colton had taken a moment to look back
over her shoulder, at the thick clouds rolling in from the ocean.

Probably not. The woman had set a leisurely pace, and kept to it for the past two hours, heading almost straight east, then slightly north, toward the hills in the distance. She hadn't stopped, she hadn't looked back, she hadn't done anything but ride. Like a woman in a trance.

Not smart. Not smart at all. A lone rider had to be constantly alert, on the lookout for danger, be it under her mount's hooves, or behind her, high in the sky—or riding another horse, following her, carefully keeping his distance, yet always keeping her in sight.

He'd say one thing for her, the woman could sit a horse. Her back ramrod straight, she sat the saddle easily, gracefully, as if born to ride. Like the cowboys of old, she could probably keep up her pace, and her fine seat, for hours and hours and hours.

So she wasn't a tenderfoot, or worse, an idiot. That was good, because Josh really didn't feel in the mood to ride to the rescue of a damsel in distress.

What he did plan to do, however, was still pretty nebulous. He'd already figured that he'd keep out of sight when she stopped for a meal, because she'd still be too close to the ranch and could simply mount her horse and ride away from him.

He'd wait until dark, which came early in November, and for her to stop for the night. Once she was settled, and too far from the ranch to risk her mount
with night travel under a moonless, starless sky, he'd ride into her camp and make himself known.

Unless she was heading toward some cabin? Possibly toward friends who lived out here, pretty much in the middle of nowhere?

No. He doubted that. She'd bought a sleeping bag, hadn't she?

Yes, the woman was on her own, and chances like this didn't come along twice. He'd follow, wait, bide his time, and then he'd ride in, confront her, and make her admit her guilt in Toby's death.

He just wished he didn't feel so much like a heel.

 

Joe Colton placed the phone back on the receiver and dropped his head into his hands. Would it stop? Would it ever stop?

“Joe?”

He looked up, to see Meredith walking into his study. Quickly, he rose from his chair and went around the desk to take her in his arms. He couldn't seem to touch her enough, hold her enough. “Hi, babe,” he said, kissing her hair. “You about ready for lunch? I think I smell Inez's special chicken soup. Good day for it, with the weather being so raw.”

Meredith gently pushed herself away from her husband, leaving her hands resting on his upper arms. “Emily's gone, Joe. She rode out this morning on one of her solitary jaunts. I found a note from her in her room. She expects to be gone at least three days.”

She tipped her head slightly, looked up at her husband. “And you knew.”

Joe took Meredith's hand and led her over to the couch. “Yes, I knew,” he admitted, sighing. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant. She feels overwhelmed right now, by us, by Martha. Too many eyes, watching her, even if we're trying to help her. The hills are her bolt hole, Meredith, and always were. So, yes, I let her go.”

“She mentioned that she's taken her cell phone,” Meredith said, folding her hands in her lap. “That's how I knew you were in on the plan, in case you're wondering. That sort of careful preparation has you written all over it.”

Joe smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes your memory is
too
good, sweetheart.”

Meredith gave him a small smile. “Well, you have to admit it, darling. Not everyone packs an extra toothbrush and a first-aid kit to go on his honeymoon.”

“I'll never live that one down, will I? And I told you, that stuff was just left in the suitcase, and I forgot to take it out.”

“Of course it was. Right next to three new pairs of pajamas, still with the sales tags on them.”

Joe put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close. “Those tags never did come off, did they? Because the pajamas never made it out of the suitcase. Now
there's
a memory I'm glad you didn't forget. Or maybe not. Maybe I'd like to refresh your memory.”

He kissed her then, and Meredith returned the kiss, raising a hand to stroke his cheek. But then she pulled away and stared deeply into his eyes. “Nice try, darling, and I'll be sure to take you up on it later. However, I got the feeling when I walked in that something's wrong, something's upset you. I heard the phone ring a few minutes ago. Is there bad news?”

Joe took her hands in his. “Yeah,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “I was going to tell you, but not until I had an update from the doctor. Meredith, Patsy tried to kill herself this morning.”

Meredith closed her eyes. “Oh, dear God.” She gripped Joe's hands, hard, and looked at him. “Is she all right? Did the doctor say she's all right?”

Nodding, Joe said, “They got to her in time. No one knows where she got the knife—a homemade affair—but the doctor told me they're always finding weapons the inmates, uh, the patients, have fashioned out of odds and ends. She slit one wrist, not too deeply, although there was a lot of blood, and Patsy tried to hold off the attendants with the knife when they came to help her. The doctor thinks it wasn't a serious attempt, more of a cry for help, but they've got her in the infirmary on a suicide watch.”

“A cry for help? What sort of help? I want to see her,” Meredith said, her lips tight. “Make the arrangements, Joe. I don't want to hear that it's impossible. Do what you have to do, call whoever you have to call. I want to see my sister, Joe.
Today.
”

 

It wasn't until two o'clock that Emily finally realized she was hungry. She had snacked on a granola bar earlier, when she'd stopped to water Molly, but her stomach had been just about the last thing on her mind.

She'd been too busy remembering. Remembering the many times she'd ridden this same countryside, gone off on her own to commune with nature—as her father had called it—to be alone, to dream her dreams. How innocent she had been, even as she'd lived with the damning thought that something was very wrong with her mother. Living with the frightening, mind-blowing thought that the woman was not her mother at all.

Emily drew Molly to a stop at one of her usual resting spots next to a small, fast-running stream and dismounted. Tying Molly's reins to a branch on a nearby tree, she left the horse to graze in the long grass, then lifted the canvas bag from the saddle horn and sat down on her favorite large rock that jutted out over the stream.

Fried chicken. Definitely the fried chicken. She rummaged in the insulated bag, taking out a small see-through container holding a leg and a wing—her favorites—and unwrapped the clear plastic wrap holding some celery and carrot sticks. She'd eat, then refill her canteen from the stream, and be on her way, already knowing that she'd have plenty of time to reach the cave before it got too dark.

She looked to the sky, just to double-check the time she'd glimpsed on her watch, and frowned as she saw the line of black clouds over the coastline. Damn. She hadn't been paying attention—and Weather Willie just lost the bet on his sweet bippy. There was going to be a storm, and it wasn't going to slip to the south.

Why hadn't she been paying attention? Unless she hadn't wanted to look back, to think about the possibility of a storm, because that would have meant she would have to postpone her camping trip.

She took one longing look at the chicken, stuck one crispy chicken leg between her teeth, and refilled her half-empty canteen from the stream. Tucking everything else back into the bag, she then untied Molly and mounted her with the ease of long practice, using the rock as her step up.

Once in the saddle, Emily looked toward the dark clouds again, and then toward the hills. Could she make it? She lifted her head, sniffed the air, at last becoming aware of the increase in the wind, all of it blowing in off the ocean.

If she turned back toward the ranch, she'd be riding straight into the storm. If she rode toward the cave, the sanctuary she'd always kept stored with dry wood for a fire, and which held her camp stove and other supplies in a large plastic container she'd dragged up there two summers ago, she might be able to outrun the storm.

Definitely the cave was the lesser of two evils. Besides, the last thing Emily wanted to do was go back
to the ranch. Not yet. She gave a flick of the reins, heading Molly toward the hills.

She didn't look back, because looking back wouldn't help her. The storm was coming. That was all she had to know.

If she had looked back, she might have caught a glimpse of Josh Atkins, remounting his own horse, ready to follow her wherever she led.

Because Emily was right. The storm was right behind her.

 

Martha watched as Meredith slid her arms into a full-length raincoat Joe held out to her. “Are you two sure you want to do this? Patsy is highly disturbed, and she hates you both. This could get nasty. Perhaps you should wait, give it a few days, then speak with the doctor again?”

“I can't do that, Martha,” Meredith told her. “Joe told me the doctor said Patsy's suicide attempt was a cry for help. Hate me or not, I'm all she's got. She has to have directed that cry to me.”

“Then let me come with you,” Martha suggested, reaching for her own coat. “She may need to see you, but she doesn't need to see Joe. I'm sorry, Joe, but just the sight of you might set her off. I'm sure I can convince her doctors to let me accompany Meredith into Patsy's hospital room.”

Joe looked at Meredith, who nodded her agreement, and within minutes they were in the car and on their way. Forty minutes later, with the windshield
wipers losing their battle with the windblown rain, they arrived at the gates of St. James Clinic, a part of the state's institution for the criminally insane.

Martha watched Meredith closely from the back seat as Joe drove through the gates, for Meredith had once resided here, after the engineered automobile accident had robbed her of her memory. Patsy had brought her here, to these grounds, and left her, unconscious, where the staff would find her, recognize her as Patsy and lock her up in a mental institution.

The amnesia, or as the doctors at St. James had termed it, her “disassociative fugue,” had only been a bonus to Patsy, who had believed that only Meredith's insistence that she was
not
Patsy would be enough to keep her sister locked up for years and years.