Protected Hearts

Cindy seemed to understand what Emma wasn’t saying. “Have you decided on the fabric for the window?” She pointed to the only unopened carton. “That was the last box.”

Gratefully, Emma latched on to the safe subject. “I think so. And, Cindy, I really do appreciate your help. The store’s so busy lately it takes nearly all my time.”

“You know I love the design aspect of creating window displays. Besides, what are friends for?”

Swallowing, Emma silently acknowledged that the friendships she’d forged in Rosewood had rescued her, in so many ways.

The warm fellowship of the Community Church had been a balm to her wounded spirit. Cindy and her friend Katherine Carlson had swept her into their lives. Inviting her into their homes and families, the women had forged a bond that eased the pain, that sometimes diverted the loneliness.

And when Emma had opened her costume store, both had dived in to help, involving other members of the church as well. Without them, Emma doubted she could have set up the shop. At least not so well and so quickly.

In tune with Emma’s quiet mood, Cindy didn’t ask any more questions. Instead they worked together, assembling the design. It didn’t take long. In keeping with the simplicity of the small town, Emma didn’t strive for anything sleek or elaborate. After about an hour, Cindy had to leave to pick up her children, but Emma didn’t mind finishing the window on her own.

Pleased with the end result, she packed up, stopping at her shop to unload the boxes before she went home. The store, Try It On, had emerged after her relocation under the witness protection program. Although they had had no proof Randy Carter was responsible for the fire that had killed Tom and Rachel, the D.A. was convinced he was their arsonist—convinced enough to believe Emma wouldn’t be safe from him.

Initially, Emma had balked at leaving so much of her life behind. Not her occupation, though. She had no heart to practice law anymore. It had cost her too much.

It was a strange thing, as though she’d somehow gone backward in time, erasing that part of her life as wife and mother, starting anew as Emma Duvere. Even her blond hair was new. And she was starting over alone. Alone and lonely.

Sighing, Emma collected the day’s orders to take home. When she’d been younger she’d wavered between her desire to pursue a career in law and follow in her father’s footsteps, or to give in to her creative ambitions. After the horror of Tom and Rachel’s deaths, even her father hadn’t protested when she’d decided to leave the law behind.

The pain of loss clutched her as though it had been two days ago instead of two years.

The shop was quiet, crowded with costumes, bolts of fabrics and accessories. She was outgrowing the small space that had seemed overly generous when she’d purchased it more than a year ago. But now, costumes and all it took to make them filled each bulging nook and cranny.

Her assistant, Tina, had locked up and gone home earlier. The costumes seemed lifeless. No rustle of crinoline or soft swish of silk. They were all tucked in for the night. As she should be. However, today, as every day, she procrastinated, not wanting to leave. This was the most difficult time, coming home at the end of the day, knowing only her pets waited there.

Once Emma left, it didn’t take long to drive from the center of town to her small house. Numb when she first arrived in Rosewood, she hadn’t cared where she lived. But once she accepted the fact that she was in Rosewood for the duration, she’d contacted the U.S. Marshal and made arrangements to find something more suitable than the apartment chosen for her. Although there were complexities because of her new identity, the Marshal had helped her through the maze.

Emma’s home had many qualities of the larger Victorians that filled the town. Detailed gingerbread trim outlined the steep roofline. And the original windows, some of them stained glass, made the place bright and inviting. It was very different from the sleek contemporary home she’d shared with Tom. But she couldn’t bear to duplicate her previous life. And she had always loved the history of older homes, the feeling of continuity from one generation of owners to the next.

Emma pulled in the driveway, glad to see the lights burning cheerfully in her front windows. She took the precaution of using timers so that they were on before she arrived home. Not that crime was a factor in Rosewood. But it was in her life.

As she pushed open the door, her dogs, Butch and Sundance, danced around her feet, tails wagging in furious delight. Butch, a black Scottish terrier, was a touch more reserved. But Sundance, her incorrigible West Highland White terrier, held no such constraints.

As was her habit, she quickly walked to the old-fashioned, country kitchen and opened the door to the backyard. Bouncing bodies of fur charged outside. Without fail her dogs cheered her, making her seem less alone.

After filling their dishes, she glanced into the fridge. She didn’t keep much food on hand. Seemed a waste for just one person. But tonight she wasn’t particularly in the mood for a frozen dinner for one.

Emma glanced at the small pile of mail. Nothing there intrigued her, either. She went back to the door and called for the dogs.

Within a short time Butch trotted over to her, ready to be petted and adored. But Sundance didn’t join them. After a few minutes she called him again. Nothing.

“Where’s your buddy?” she asked Butch.

Sundance was always the one who lagged behind, always the one most apt to get into mischief. She’d had Butch first and when she’d acquired the second dog, Sundance had proved to be more of a challenge. Knowing he would willingly go farther afield than was wise, Emma walked outside, calling his name. Anxiety was never far from the surface, one of the scars she now carried.

The sky was dark and Emma shivered despite the warmth of the evening. Sundance was nowhere in sight. After scouring her own yard, Emma glanced next door at the empty house.

She called out softly, not wishing to disturb any neighbors. Hearing scratching from the other side of the vacant property, she ventured toward the sound.

But as she walked deeper into the yard, it seemed to get darker, the tall trees blotting out any trace of moonlight. Telling herself not to be silly, she rounded the corner.

Then stopped suddenly.

Lights flickered in the supposedly vacant place. Like candlelight, shimmering and uneven. Emma swallowed an unexpected taste of fear. Where was Sundance?

Twigs cracked beneath her light footsteps, making her jerk around. Emma tried to control the ridiculous pounding of her heart. There was no point coming unglued over nothing.

Turning back, she slammed into something hard, something warm, something alive. The scream in her throat emerged as something between a shriek and a croak.

“It’s you! The hardware-store window lady!” Seth McAllister stared at her in disbelief.

Swallowing her fear and trying to disguise her ragged breathing, Emma nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“A better question is what are you doing here?”

Emma’s fear was giving way to annoyance. “Answer my question first.”

“This is my yard, my house.” His clipped tones revealed the man’s equal annoyance.

“That can’t be.” Suspiciously, she backed up a fraction. “This house is vacant.”

“It was until I rented it,” he replied, clearly still annoyed.

“You?”

“Yes. Which brings me back to my question. What are you doing here?”

Not certain whether to believe him and at the same time embarrassed that he might be telling the truth, Emma stuttered. “Sun…Sundance, I was looking for him.”

Despite the dark night, she read the skepticism in his face. “As in Butch and…?”

Oh, this was just too embarrassing to explain. She straightened her shoulders. “Sundance is my dog, a Westie, white, tons of long fur. He has a habit of roaming.”

He glanced over at the open gate. “Maybe if you kept that closed—”

“I only opened it just now to look for Sundance.” Irritated that she was having to explain herself, Emma took the offensive. “I don’t want to sound rude, but how do I know you’ve rented this house? I saw you for the first time today and now you’re lurking outside in the dark.”

“Lurking?” A flash of white teeth showed his amusement. “Are you suggesting I followed you?”

She was grateful for the darkness as she felt her face flush. “If you rented this house, why is it lit by candlelight?”

“Because the broker screwed up. He was supposed to have all the utilities turned on. As you can see, he didn’t.”

Plausible, but experience had taught her that she couldn’t take anything at face value.

“So, where is this alleged dog?” he asked.