Читать книгу ThE BUCKHORN LEGACY - Lori Foster - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

Eight Years Later

THOUGH SHE COULDN’T SEE beyond the raised hood, she heard the very distant rumble of the approaching car and gave a sigh of relief. Damon, who had been about to set a flare on the narrow gravel road, walked back to her with the flare unlit. He stuck his head in the driver’s-door window. “I’m going to flag this guy down and maybe he’ll give us a hand.”

Emma smiled at him. “The way this day is going? We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t speed on by and blow dust in our faces.”

B.B. hung his head over her seat and nuzzled her ear. His doggy breath was hot and impatient. Likely, he wanted out of the car worse than she did. The winding gravel roads opened on both sides to endless stretches of overgrown brush that shielded anything from rabbits to snakes. B.B. heeded her call, so she wasn’t really worried about him wandering off. But she also didn’t want to take the chance that he’d get distracted with a critter on unfamiliar ground.

The day had already been endless with one hitch after another. What should have been a six-or seven-hour drive from Chicago to Buckhorn, had turned into eight and a half, and they hadn’t even had a chance to stop for a sit-down meal. Even with the occasional breaks they’d taken and her quick stopover at the hospital, they were all beat. The dog wasn’t used to being confined for so long, and neither was she.

Damon patted her hand. “Stay put until I see who it is. This late on a Saturday night, and in a strange town, I don’t want to take any chances with you.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Damon, I grew up here, remember? This isn’t a strange place. It’s Buckhorn and believe me, it’s so safe it borders on boring.”

“You haven’t been here in eight long years, doll. Time changes everything.”

She scoffed at that ridiculous notion. “Not Buckhorn. Trust me.”

In fact, Emma had been amazed at how little it had changed in the time she’d been away. On their way to the one and only motel Buckhorn had to offer, they’d driven through the town proper. Everything looked the same: pristine, friendly, old-fashioned.

The streets were swept clean, the sidewalks uncluttered. There were two small grocery stores at opposite ends of town, each with varying specialties. The same clothing store that had been there for over a hundred years still stood, but painted a new, brighter color. The hairdresser’s building had new landscaping; the pharmacy had a new lighted sign.

Lit by stately lampposts, Emma had gazed down a narrow side street at the sheriff’s station, situated across the street from a field of cows. Once a farmhouse, the ornate structure still boasted a wraparound porch, white columns in the front, and black shutters. Emma wondered if Morgan Hudson still reigned supreme. He’d be in his mid-forties by now, but Emma would be willing to bet he remained as large, strong and imposing as ever. Morgan wasn’t the type of man ever to let himself go soft.

She also saw Gabe Kasper’s handyman shop, now expanded into two buildings and looking very sophisticated. Apparently business was good for Gabe, not that she’d ever had any doubts. Women around Buckhorn broke things on purpose just to get Gabe to do repairs.

Then she’d seen Ceily’s diner.

Her stomach knotted at the sight of the familiar building, quiet and closed down for the night but with new security lights on the outside. Everyone in town loved that quaint old diner, making it a favorite hangout.

Her heart gave a poignant twinge at the remembrance of it all.

“For once,” Damon said with dramatic frustration, drawing her away from the memories, “will you just do as I say without arguing me into the ground?”

B.B. barked in agreement.

“You guys always gang up on me,” Emma accused, then waved Damon off. “Your caution is unnecessary, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll just sit here like a good little helpless woman. Maybe I’ll even twiddle my thumbs.”

“Your sarcasm is showing, doll.” He glanced at the dog. “B.B., see that she stays put.”

The dog hung his head over her shoulder, mournful at the enormity of the task.

The approaching car finally maneuvered through all the twists and turns of the stretching road, and drew near. Arms raised, Damon rounded the hood to signal for assistance. It must be a nice vehicle, Emma thought, hearing the nearly melodic purr of the powerful engine. She’d learned a lot about cars while living with the Devaughns.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned enough to be able to change a water pump without a spare pump on hand.

At first, because of the angle of the road, the swerving headlights slanted partially in through her window, blinding her. When the car stopped right in front of them, the open hood of her Mustang kept her from being able to see the occupants. In a town the size of Buckhorn, the odds weren’t too bad that she might recognize their rescuers. Though few people had really befriended her, she’d grown up with them and could still recall many of them clearly.

Beside her, B.B.’s head lifted and he rumbled a low warning growl at the strangers. Emma reached over her shoulder to put her hand on his scruff, calming him, letting him know that everything was okay.

The purring engine turned off, leaving only the night sounds of insects. “Well, hello.”

With amusement in his tone, Damon replied, “Good evening.”

Emma couldn’t see, but she could hear just fine, and the feminine voice responding to Damon was definitely flirtatious. She sighed.

Sometimes Emma thought he was too good-looking for his own good. He wasn’t overly tall, maybe an inch shy of six feet, but he had a lean, athletic build and warm, clear blue eyes and the most engaging grin she’d ever witnessed on a grown man. Everywhere he went, women turned their heads to watch him.

“Can we give you a lift?”

“Actually,” Damon’s deep voice rumbled, “I’d just like to make a call to Triple A. Do you have a cell phone with you? My battery went dead an hour ago.”

A car door opened, gravel crunched beneath someone’s feet, and the next voice Emma heard almost stopped her heart. “Sorry, I don’t carry one when I’m not working. The ringing is too bothersome. But we can take you into town to make the call.”

Stunned, Emma pushed her car door open and slowly climbed out. Damon wouldn’t leave her alone to go to town and make the call, especially once he realized that he’d just flagged down the only person in Buckhorn that she had serious reservations about seeing again.

B.B. jumped over the seat and climbed out behind her, sticking close to her side. The big German shepherd moved silently across the grass and gravel, his head lifted to scent the air for danger, his body alert.

Emma paused a moment in the deep shadows, sucking in fresh, dewy air and reminding herself that she was now an adult, not a lovesick schoolgirl with more bravado than brains. There was no reason to act silly. No reason to still feel embarrassed.

Casey was nothing to her now. He’d never really been anything to her except a friend—and an adolescent fantasy. After what she’d done to him, and after eight long years, friendship wasn’t even an issue.

She had planned to see him, of course. Just not yet. Not when she looked so… Emma stopped that line of thought. It didn’t matter that she wore comfortable jeans and a logo sweatshirt, or that her eyes were shadowed from too little sleep over the past few days.

Smoothing her hair behind her ears and straightening her shoulders, Emma slipped around the front of the Mustang and stepped into the light of the low beams. B.B. stationed himself at her side, well mannered but ready to defend.

Emma took one look at Casey and a strange sort of joy expanded inside her. He looked good. He looked the same, just…more so. With every second of every day, she’d missed him, but she didn’t know if he would even remember her.

“Well, I thought I recognized that voice,” Emma said, proud that only a slight waver sounded in her words. “Hello, Casey.”

Damon twisted around to face her, and Casey’s head jerked up in surprise. Emma held herself still while the woman with Casey scooted closer to him, blatantly staking a claim.

Caught between the headlights of both cars, they all stood there. The damp August-evening air drifted over and around them, stirring the leaves and the tension. Moths fluttered into the light and wispy fog hung near the ground, snaking around their feet. Emma heard the chirp of every cricket, the creaking of heavy branches, her own stilted breath.

His body rigid, his thoughts concealed, Casey stared toward Emma. In the darkness, his eyes appeared black as pitch, intensely direct. He explored her face in minute detail, taking his time while Emma did her best not to fidget.

The silence stretched out, painful and taut, until Emma didn’t know if she could take it anymore.

Finally, he took a step forward. “Emma?”

Like a warm caress, his familiar deep voice slipped over and around her. He said her name as a question, filled with wonder, surprise, maybe even pleasure. At eighteen, he’d seemed so grown up, but now that he was grown, he could take her breath away.

Her smile felt silly, uncertain. She made an awkward gesture, and shrugged. “That’d be me.”

“My God, I’d never have recognized you.” He strode forward as if he might embrace her, and Emma automatically drew back. She didn’t mean to do it, and she silently cursed herself for the knee-jerk reaction to seeing him again. His physical presence, once so comforting, now seemed as powerful, as dark and turbulent, as a storm. The changes were subtle, but she’d known him so well, been so fixated on him, that they were glaringly obvious to her.

At her retreat, Casey drew to a halt. His smile faltered then became cynical, matching the light in his eyes. He veered his gaze toward Damon, and Emma knew he’d drawn his own conclusions.

When he faced her again, his expression had turned icy. “I’m surprised to see you here, Em.”

“My father…he’s in the hospital.” She hated herself for stammering, but when she’d thought Casey might touch her, her heart, her pulse, even her thoughts had sped up, leaving her a little jumbled. No, no, no, she silently swore, wanting to deny the truth. Surely, eight years was long enough. It had to be.

But right now, with Casey so close she could feel the beat of his energy and the strength of his presence, it felt as if less than eight days had passed. Long-buried emotions clamored to the surface, and Emma struggled to repress them again.

Oh, it wasn’t that she still pined for Casey, or that she carried any fanciful illusions. The time away had been an eternity for her. She’d gone from being an immature, needy girl to a grown, independent woman. She’d learned so much, faced so many realities, and she now considered herself a person to be proud of.

But seeing him, being back in Buckhorn…well, some memories never died and her last ones with Casey were the type that haunted her dreams. She could still blush, remembering that awful night and what she’d put him and his family through. Like old garbage, her father had dumped her on Casey’s doorstep—and he’d taken her in.

That wasn’t the only thing that made her hot with embarrassment, though. The nights that preceded her eventful departure were worse. She’d thrown herself at Casey again and again, utilizing every female ploy to entice him—and had always been rebuffed. The strongest emotion he’d ever felt for her was pity.

And now he had no reason to feel even that.

“I’d heard your dad was sick. Will he be all right?”

It didn’t surprise her that he knew. There were few secrets in Buckhorn, so of course he’d heard.

Renewed worry prodded her, sounding in her tone. “He was asleep when I stopped at the hospital earlier, and I didn’t want to disturb him. He needs his rest. But the nurse assures me that he’s doing better. They have him out of intensive care, so I guess that’s a good sign. I just…I wish I could have talked with him.”

“What happened?”

She swallowed hard, still disbelieving how quickly things had changed. The call from her mother had rattled her and she hadn’t quite gotten a grip on her emotions yet. She hadn’t seen her father in so long, but she’d always known he was there, as cantankerous and hardworking as ever. But now… Emma stared up at Casey and felt the connection of a past lifetime. “He had a stroke.”

“Damn, Em. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

She nodded.

Casey shifted closer, scrutinizing her as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. His expression was so probing, she felt stripped bare and strangely raw.

When Casey moved forward, so did the very pretty redhead with him. She plastered herself to his side in a show of possessiveness. “You two have met?”

Casey glanced at her, then draped his arm over her shoulders with negligent regard. There didn’t seem to be any real level of intimacy between them.

But then what did Emma know about real intimacy?

“Emma and I practically grew up together.” Casey watched her as he said it, his eyes narrowed, taunting. “We were close, real close I thought, but she’s been away from town now for…”

“Eight years,” Emma supplied, unwilling to hear him say any more. Close? The only closeness had been in her head and in her dreams. Dredging up her manners, Emma held out her hand and prayed the darkness would hide her slight trembling. “I’m Emma Clark, and this is my friend, Damon Devaughn.”

With a look of suspicion, the redhead released Casey to shake hands politely with both Emma and Damon. “Kristin Swarth.”

“It’s delightful to meet you,” Damon murmured, and Kristin’s frown lifted to be replaced by a coy smile. Damon had charisma in spades and the ladies always soaked it up.

Though Damon had no problem warming up to Kristin, he didn’t treat Casey with the same courtesy. The second she’d first said Casey’s name, Damon had gone rigid and he hadn’t relaxed again.

Now, at the introduction, Casey eyed Damon anew, then drew the woman a little closer. “Kristin and I work together.”

It wasn’t easy, but Emma managed another smile. “I hope we’re not interrupting your plans?”

“Not really.” Casey gave her a lazy look. “I was just about to take Kristin home.”

At the word home, B.B. let out a friendly woof, and Emma laughed. “I’m sorry, I almost forgot. This is my pal, B.B.”

With a wide grin, Casey hunkered down in front of the big dog. “Hello, B.B.”

Using noticeable caution, the dog sauntered forward, did some sniffing, and then licked Casey’s hand. Emma had almost forgotten how good Casey’s family was with animals, Casey included. His Uncle Jordan was even a vet, but they all loved animals and were never without a menagerie of pets.

“Where’d you come up with the name B.B.?”

Emma chuckled, her tension easing with the topic. B.B. was her best friend, her comrade in arms when necessary, her confidant. They’d comforted each other when there was no one else, and now it often seemed B.B. could read her mind. “Big Boy,” she explained, and B.B. barked in agreement.

“He’s a gorgeous dog.” Casey stroked along B.B.’s muscled back, then patted his ribs. “How old is he?”

Damon answered for her, his gaze speculative as he watched man and dog bonding. “We’re not sure, but probably about nine or so. He was young when Emma got him, more a ball of fur with nothing big about him, other than his appetite.”

Emma quickly elbowed Damon, hard. A history of how she’d gotten the dog was the last thing she wanted discussed. She didn’t mean for Casey to witness that prod, but when she glanced down at him, their gazes clashed and held. He didn’t say anything, and that was a relief. When she got Damon alone, she’d choke him.

As Casey scratched the dog’s head and rubbed his ears, Emma absorbed the sight of him. It seemed impossible, but eight years had only made him better—taller, stronger, more handsome. As a teen, he’d been an unqualified stud. As a grown man—wowza.

The gentle evening breeze ruffled his dark-blond hair, and his brown eyes caught and held the moonlight. He wore dark slacks and a dress shirt that fit his wide shoulders perfectly. Emma forced her gaze away. It was beyond dumb for her to be ogling him.

The car behind him was, amazingly enough, also a Mustang, but surely a much newer, ritzier model. Emma nodded at the car, trying to see it clearly in the shadows of the night. “Black or blue or green?”

Keeping his hand on B.B.’s head, Casey straightened. “What?”

“Your car.”

He swiveled his head around and looked at the car as if he’d never seen it before. “Black.”

“Mine is red and in desperate need of a water pump. If you’re heading into town, do you think you could direct someone this way? Or is there even road service in the area yet?”

Casey shook his head. “Hell no. If you call Triple A it’ll take them at least a couple of hours to get out here to you.”

Emma groaned. She was dead on her feet and anxious to get settled. All she wanted to do was shower, eat and sleep, in that order. She’d already stopped at the hospital on the way into town. Damon had kept an eye on B.B., letting him walk about on the grounds while she’d spoken briefly with the nurses before visiting her father.

He’d looked so old and frail, and hadn’t registered her visit. She’d wanted to touch him, to reassure herself that he was alive, stable. But she’d held back. Since the doctor was due to see him again in the early morning, she planned to be there so she could get a full update on his prognosis.

Casey moved closer to her again. “The garage is closed for the night, too. That hasn’t changed. We still roll up the sidewalks by nine. But I can give you both a ride into town if you want.”

Emma looked at Damon. He lounged back against the car and smiled his sexiest smile. “We’ll be staying at the Cross Roads Motel. Is that too far off?”

Casey cocked one eyebrow and gave Emma an assessing look. “You’re not staying with your mother?”

“No.” Just the thought of seeing her mother again, of being back in the house where her life had been so miserable, made Emma’s stomach churn. Because Casey couldn’t possibly understand her reserve, she scrambled for reasons to present to him, but her wits had gone begging. It didn’t help that Damon was deliberately provoking Casey, suggesting an intimate relationship that didn’t exist. “The house is small, and my mother… Well, I, ah, thought it’d be better if…”

Before she could say any more, Damon was there. “We’ve been driving for hours,” he interjected smoothly, “and we’re both exhausted. Just let us grab a few things and we can stop holding you up.”

Casey frowned. “You’re not holding me up.”

“I need to be going,” Kristin said, clearly miffed by the turn of events and the way everyone ignored her. Her tone turned snide and her eyes narrowed on B.B. “But I have my cat in the car and she doesn’t like strangers. She especially doesn’t like dogs. Casey, you know she’ll have a fit if we try to put another animal in there with her. Besides, there’s not room for everyone.”

Casey turned to Emma with a shrug. “I’m afraid she’s right. Kristin treated me to dinner because I agreed to help her move.”

Laying a hand on his chest, Kristin turned her face up to his. “You know that wasn’t my only reason.”

Casey countered her suggestiveness with an inattentive hug. “We’ve got the last load in the car now. The floor and the backseat are already packed.”

Damon brought Emma a little closer, and no one could have missed the protectiveness of his gesture. Emma refrained from rolling her eyes, but it wasn’t easy. She was the last woman on earth in need of protection, but Damon refused to believe that.

“No problem.” The baring of Damon’s teeth in no way resembled a smile. And if Emma didn’t miss her guess, he was relieved to send Casey away. She only wished she felt the same. “Perhaps you could call us a cab, then?”

“No cabs in Buckhorn. Sorry.” Reflecting Damon’s mood, Casey looked anything but sorry by that fact. “And you know, if you don’t get to the Cross Roads soon, you’ll get locked out.”

“Locked out?”

“Yep.” Casey transferred his gaze to Emma—and his eyes glittered with a strange satisfaction. “Emma, you remember Mrs. Reider? She refuses to get out of bed to check people in after midnight.” He lifted his wrist to see the illuminated dial on his watch. “That gives you less than fifteen minutes to make it there.”

The beginning of a headache throbbed in Emma’s temples. She rubbed her forehead, trying to decide what to do. “It was difficult enough convincing her that B.B. wouldn’t be a problem.”

Casey lifted an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you could convince her. She’s not big on pets.”

“Paying a double rate did the trick. And I just know she’ll still charge us if we don’t make it there on time. Her cancellation policy is no better than her check-in policy.”

Casey’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “She’s the only motel in town. She can afford to be difficult.”

“Damn.” Damon started to pace, which truly showed his annoyance, since Damon normally remained cool in any situation.

Casey stopped him with a simple question. “Can you drive stick?”

Somewhat affronted, Damon said, “Of course.”

“Great.” Casey pulled a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them to Damon, who caught them against his chest. “Why don’t you take Kristin on home? The Cross Roads Motel is on the way. You can stop and check in, get your room keys, and then after you get Kristin unloaded, you can come back for us.”

Damon idly rattled the keys in his palm, looking between Casey and Emma. “Us?”

“I’ll stay here with Emma and B.B.”

Emma nearly strangled on her own startled breath. Seeing Casey so unexpectedly had unnerved her enough. No way did she want to be alone with him. Not yet. “I can drive a stick.”

B.B. looked at her anxiously and took an active stance. His muscles quivered as if he might leap after her if she tried to leave.

“Right.” Damon sent her a look. “And you really think he’ll stay alone with me on an empty street while you ride off with a stranger? He’ll have a fit. Hell, he’d probably chase the car all the way into town. It’d be different if we were at the motel and you left, but out here…”

“Okay, okay.” Damon was right. B.B. was so defensive of her, she often wondered if he hadn’t been a guard dog in another life.

“Besides,” Damon added, further prodding her, “the room is held on my credit card.” He stared at Emma hard, undecided, then abruptly shook his head. “Hell no. Let’s forget this. It’s already late, so what’s a few more hours? We can wait for Triple A and then find a motel back on the highway to stay in for the night.”

Emma gave that idea quick but serious thought, and knew the only reasonable thing to do was to stop acting like a desperate ninny. She couldn’t imagine finding another motel that would allow her to bring B.B. inside. Besides, Damon had driven most of the hours, and despite his suggestion, he looked exhausted. B.B. wasn’t in much better shape.

She’d stopped being selfish long ago.

“It’s all right, Damon.” She gave him a smile to reassure him. “I’m beat and so are you. You go on, and B.B. and I’ll wait here.”

Kristin crossed her arms and struck a petulant pose. “Don’t I get a vote on this?”

Casey spared her a glance. “Not this time.” Then he added, “And, honey, don’t pout.” He walked her to the car, his large hand open on the small of her back, urging her along while he spoke quietly in her ear.

Damon used that moment to pull Emma aside. He practically shoved her behind the open driver’s door and then bent close. “Dear God,” he muttered, holding his head. “I can understand why he became your adolescent hero, Emma. He’s testosterone on legs.”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh at Damon’s look of distaste. He wasn’t into the whole machismo display. Damon was far too refined for that, a man straight out of GQ. He also knew exactly how to lighten her mood. Not that he was wrong, of course. If anything, Casey was more ruggedly masculine now than he’d ever been.

Emma decided to tease him right back. “I hate to break it to you, Damon, but he’s obviously into women.”

Refusing to take the bait, Damon glanced over at Kristin with critical disdain. “I’m into women. He’s obviously into twits. There is a difference.”

Casey and Kristin were still in quiet conversation, their bodies outlined by the reaching glow of the car lights. “You really think so?”

“That she’s a twit? Absolutely.”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” She swatted at him and stifled a laugh. “I mean, do you think they’re a couple?”

“Worried?”

Damon knew better. She wouldn’t be in Buckhorn long enough to get worried about Casey and whom he might or might not be involved with. Probably his girlfriends were too many to count, anyway. Until he’d turned sixteen, Casey had been raised in an all-male household. Sawyer and his three brothers had been the most eligible, respected and adored bachelors in Buckhorn. One by one they’d married off, starting with Casey’s father. But Casey had inherited a lot of their appeal and long before Emma had left town, the females had been chasing him. “Only curious. I haven’t seen him in so long.”

Damon’s look plainly said yeah, right. “I think he wants to be into her, if you need true accuracy. Whether or not he likes her—who knows?” Then he added with more seriousness, “You know to most men, liking and wanting have nothing in common.”

That was Damon’s staunchest requirement. He had to genuinely like and respect a woman to decide to sleep with her. Intelligence sat high on his list, as did motivation and kindness. The second a woman got gossipy or catty, he walked away. Unlike many of the men she’d known through the years, Damon wasn’t ruled by his libido. Emma respected him for that, even while she knew he’d be a tough man to please.

Again Emma chuckled, but her humor was cut short as Casey called, “You ready to go?”

Damon ignored him as he cupped Emma’s face, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Too fast, doll. That was nothing more than an automatic answer.”

“But true nonetheless.”

He waggled her head. “Just be on guard, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’m not made of glass,” she chided.

“No, it’s sugar I think.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, nipped her knuckles and said, “Yep, sugar.”

Emma was well used to that teasing response—he’d been saying it to her since she was seventeen years old, when they’d first met. She’d been backward, afraid, alone. And he’d treated her like a well-loved kid sister.

Laughing, she turned toward the other car, and caught the censure on Casey’s face. He didn’t say a word, but then he didn’t have to. She knew exactly what he thought. And none of it was nice.

Worse, none of it was accurate.