Miss Emmaline And The Archangel Part 13

He gave her a small, crooked smile, a smile that conveyed a surprising warmth. "Sure. We got you into it last night, didn't we?"

Emma closed her eyes, remembering the ride to and from the creek. She was sure she had taken five years off the life expectancy of her cardiovascular system. Surely a heart wasn't meant to beat two hundred times a minute? And her fingers still ached a little from the way she had hung on to the door handle. Frankly, she didn't want to do it again.

"Okay," she said. "Okay." Maybe this time it would be easier. And it was Gage, after all.

Getting into the Suburban with him was easier this morning. The instinctive panic eased after the first jolt, not entirely letting go, but making the ride a far sight easier on her. Gage was good, too, doing nothing to prolong their time together in the cab and talking all the way, trying to distract her. And this time, when they parked, Emma didn't scramble out as if demons were chasing her. She didn't exactly linger, but she climbed out with some dignity.

Velma Jansen greeted her pleasantly, but with a speculative look that made Emma think she might be in for some quizzing from the ladies of the Bible Study Group come Sunday morning. Velma was nothing if not a ringleader among those women, Emma thought.

Velma spoke to Gage. "Ed is driving the samples up to the lab. They'll get them today."

"Thanks, Velma." Gage touched Emma's elbow. "My office is back here."

"Why is Ed driving the samples to the lab?" She saw the wreath on Gage's door and wondered at it as he ushered her to a chair.

"Because it's Friday. Everything will get hung up for another two days if the samples don't get there until Monday. This way we should at least know what kind of blood it was-if it was blood."

Emma stared at him. "It sure didn't look like anything else."

"Smelled like blood, too," Gage agreed. He reached for the phone and punched in the lab's number while he watched Emma survey his office. "Herm Abbott, please," he said into the receiver. "Gage Dalton, Conard County Sheriff's Department."

Books, Emma thought. He had so many books. These had official-sounding t.i.tles, all of them related to law enforcement and investigations. She'd never really thought about it, but it appeared that law enforcement required a great deal of study.

"Hey, Herm," Gage said, "Gage Dalton here. No, I realize you haven't received that last carca.s.s yet. I was calling because one of our deputies is hand-carrying some blood samples up to you. I'd like to know as soon as you figure out whether it's human or animal, and if it's animal, what kind."

Emma watched him shift in his chair as he sought a comfortable position for his back and wondered how he could stand it. She would probably cut her throat if she hurt all the time.

"I'll be at home for the rest of the day," Gage said, winding up his conversation. "Let me give you the number." He recited Emma's home phone number. "Thanks, Herm. Talk to you later."

He hung up and paused with his hand on the receiver. "Now to call about your dagger."

"It's not my dagger," Emma reminded him.

He started punching in another phone number. "Em, darlin', if that dagger didn't have something to do with you, I wouldn't give a d.a.m.n about it. I sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't have bothered Brian Webster with it. He's got more important-Hi, Sally. Gage. I got a note that Brian called?"

There was, Emma found herself thinking as she watched him, a whole world out there that knew more about Gage Dalton than she did. The woman he was talking to now, for example. He spoke as if they were very old friends, asking about her husband and her dogs, and then giving her Emma's number for Brian Webster to call him back in a couple of hours.

When he hung up, Gage swiveled his chair toward Emma, catching a pensive, possibly sad, expression on her face. "Brian'll call me as soon as he gets out of his meeting, maybe a couple of hours. Let's you and me go get some lunch at Maude's."

He didn't want to go back and face that Christmas tree, Emma thought. Initially he'd used the phone calls as an excuse to get her out of the house, and now lunch would be another excuse to stay away for awhile longer. She opened her mouth to tell him that he really didn't have to help with the tree, that if it bothered him so much she would gladly throw the darn thing away, but something about his expression silenced her. It wasn't exactly pain that caused the tension around his eyes, or anything else she could really name. Whatever it was, it made her feel strange. Edgy. Impatient.

"If we go to Maude's for lunch," she said finally, in a smothered voice, "we'll wind up being an item."

"We're already an item, Red. Velma warned me yesterday. People are talking. Are you going to be hanged for a sheep or a lamb?"

The question was vaguely challenging, almost daring her to leap into his arms, but the tension around his eyes had eased, and in their stormy gray-green depths she saw a sparkle of amus.e.m.e.nt-an amus.e.m.e.nt that echoed her own over the fact that she had used the same comparison herself only a few days ago.

"You mean I'm still a lamb?" she asked, and then wished she could die as soon as the incautious words escaped. What was it about this man that kept shattering all her prudence?

Gage had risen to his feet, and now he leaned across his desk toward her, giving a melodramatic leer. "You, m'dear, are most definitely still a lamb. Take my word for it."

He watched the color bloom in Emma's cheeks and felt a smile grow on his own face. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen a woman blush, and certainly not one Emma's age. She was priceless. Absolutely priceless.

He drove them to Maude's. It was only two blocks, an easy walk, but he wanted to give her more time in the car with him. She had come a long way already, and he figured that each and every time she climbed in with him, she took another step away from the fear.

If Maude had heard of saturated fats, she hadn't allowed it to change her cooking habits. She still served all the old standbys, from fried eggs to fried potatoes, and every item on her menu exploded with equal amounts of grease and flavor. Maude's cooking was a sin meant to be enjoyed, and Emma had long since learned to treat it that way. On the rare occasions when she ate here, she banished all thoughts of her waistline and her bathroom scale.

"I'll have the steak sandwich and fries," she told the waitress. "And coffee."

Gage ordered the same, and then, as the girl walked off, he shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a better position on the bench in the booth.

"Doesn't anything help?" Emma asked him.

He looked at her and slowly, ever so slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted. "Yeah. One or two things make me forget it for awhile."

Emma felt her color rising again. "Don't."

"Okay." He shouldn't be teasing her, he warned himself, and not just because it embarra.s.sed her. He'd gotten too close to her last night, and he owed it to them both to back off before things went any further. It wasn't as if he had anything to offer her. And it wasn't as if she would want it, even if he had. Nor was she experienced enough to keep her emotions from getting tangled up if she had an affair.

So many excellent reasons to keep clear, every one of them inarguable-except that every cell in his body wanted to love this woman. Every inch of him ached to hold her and know her. She was warm, pa.s.sionate, unspoiled. Loving her would be a fantastic, mind-blowing experience, he was sure. It would be unlike any experience in his life. He had only to remember how she had responded to him yesterday to know she would be as potent as any drug, and just as addicting.

But he didn't deserve her. And she sure as h.e.l.l didn't deserve him.

And he felt guilty as h.e.l.l for even thinking of such things. He eased around again on the bench, trying to find that elusive point of balance that minimized the pain. He wouldn't find it, of course, because it didn't exist. It only felt as if it ought to.

"You don't have to help me decorate the tree this afternoon," Emma said after they had been served. "I know it ... bothers you."

Gage's head lifted sharply, and he studied her, wondering how much else he had betrayed without realizing it. Of course, he had been sitting in front of the tree crying like a two-year-old yesterday when she came home for lunch. Not that he was ashamed of crying, because he wasn't. Some things sure as h.e.l.l deserved tears. Some things deserved every tear a man could shed.

"I'll help," he said flatly, meaning to close the subject. Some things deserved tears, and other things simply had to be faced.

"You're impossible, Gage Dalton," Emma said tartly. "You won't cut yourself any slack at all, will you? And you don't care in the least how it makes the rest of us feel to be unable to spare you the least little thing!"

"I don't deserve to be spared."

The stark words caused Emma's breath to lock in her throat. His face gave away nothing, but it didn't need to. He didn't deserve to be spared? Oh, my word...

Aching for him as she had never before ached for anyone, Emma would have given the sun, the moon, the stars and the rest of her life to vanquish Gage's demons. She couldn't imagine that a man like Gage, a man so clearly upright and honorable, should have any real justification to feel that way, and it appalled her to realize that he believed he did.

"Years and years ago," Gage said presently, "I got stationed in a backwater Florida town. I grew up in Chicago, and in the army I stayed pretty much on post except when I went to cla.s.ses at the university. You can't imagine what a shock it was to me, Em. Conard City is big-time compared to this place the DEA sent me. There were about a hundred people and not even a single stop sign. I'd had no idea there were places like that."

"Why did they send you there?"

"Some drug operation was flying cocaine in from South America, and we suspected they were landing near this town. My job was to be sufficiently disreputable to get a job of some kind in the organization."

He looked up from his steak suddenly and surprised her with a rueful smile. "Talk about getting your eyes opened. I was a hotshot street fighter from the big time, and suddenly I was in another world. Another planet. Another race. A twelve-year-old kid who lived up the road used to bring me squirrels for my supper. He hardly went to school at all, but he kept his mother and ten kids in meat by shooting squirrels and snaring rabbits. For me it was like stepping back centuries in time. I quit being c.o.c.ky real fast. Those people knew how to survive in ways I'd never imagined."

Emma nodded encouragingly, wanting to hear more about him and not caring whether there was a point to it.

"It took about eighteen months to infiltrate the smuggling operation, but in the meantime I learned a lot. I learned that the world didn't have to be dog-eat-dog, and that a man has an obligation to his neighbors. I learned that even when it's tough, it's possible to survive without giving up the high moral ground. Without becoming an animal." He sighed and pushed his plate aside. "A man has to accept responsibility for his life, Emma, no matter how hard it gets. That's what sets him apart from animals. Would you like some pie?"

A man has to accept responsibility for his life.

Emma pondered that enigmatic statement all the way home, wondering just what Gage felt responsible for.

The fully decorated tree sparkled and twinkled in the living room like a fairy-tale vision. Gage stood beside Emma and wondered how he'd gotten through it. He had, though. Every time he had thought of turning tail, he'd reminded himself of Emma getting into the car with him. If she could do it, so could he.

And he was still here. His throat ached with grief, and his heart hammered on the edge of panic, but he was still here.

"It's beautiful," Emma said, then sighed, wondering why she kept bothering. Since her father had died, Christmas tended to remind her of all she had lost and all she lacked. Right now, looking at that beautiful tree, she wanted to cry her eyes out.

The phone rang, and Gage stiffened. "Brian. At last."

"Take it in the study," Emma suggested swiftly. "There's paper there for taking notes if you need to."

"Thanks." He was already headed that way.

Emma hesitated, longing to follow him but feeling he was ent.i.tled to his privacy on the phone. Finally her upbringing won. She headed for the kitchen to get some coffee.

It was now shortly past four, and the afternoon was darkening into evening. Snow had begun to fall earlier, but now, for the first time, she noticed they were in the midst of a blizzard.

Pulling back the cafe curtains, she flipped on the back porch light and looked out at her driveway. Her car was already vanishing under four inches of fresh powder, and all traces of this morning's events had been buried beneath a pristine blanket. Wind whipped the icy crystals around in a chaotic whirl and drifted the snow against the garage door. A sudden gust rattled the kitchen windows and doors, and she heard the house groan before the onslaught.

Mr. Craig was right. It was turning into a very unusual winter. A bad winter. Having lived all her life here, her thoughts turned immediately to the ranchers who would have to cope with this. Freezing winds and heavy snow meant all kinds of deadly problems for many of her neighbors.

She kept a weather radio on her counter, and she turned it on now, listening to the winter storm warning, the stockmen's advisory, the forecast for six to eight inches of fresh fall by midnight.

"Sounds bad."

Gage's voice startled her, and she whirled around to face him. "It's going to be awful for the ranchers."

"For the cops, too."

Emma nodded. "Was it your friend?"

"Yeah. Is that coffee any good?"

"I just made it."

He pulled a mug from the cabinet and poured himself some. "I'm not sure what kind of help we just got, Em, but I guess we know more than we did."

"What do you mean?" Unconsciously, her hands knotted together.

He leaned back against the counter and crossed his legs at the ankle. Lifting the mug, he took a deep swallow and sighed with pleasure. "d.a.m.n, lady, you make the best coffee."

"I buy the best beans. Gage, what did he say?"

"He said the dagger in the photo is a very poor copy of a dagger once used by Turkish hashshashin."

"What's a hash-whatever."

"Hashshashin. The word is Arabic, I believe. We derive the word a.s.sa.s.sin from it, and the word hashish, which pretty much tells the story. Brian said that back during the Crusades these hashshashin were some kind of secret sect. Anyway, the dagger is just a very poor copy, so it sure wasn't sent as part of a fund-raising drive."

Emma pulled a chair out from the table and sat. "I don't think I like the sound of this."

"Me either, if you want the truth." He took another swig of coffee.

"A pentagram and a copy of a knife once used by a secret sect of drug-crazed killers," Emma said after a moment. "Gage, this isn't a very funny joke."

"If it's all linked." But his gut was telling him it was. "You've seen that dagger before, Emma. Haven't you?" It sounded more like a reminder than a question.

She drew a sharp breath and looked slowly up at him. "I think so," she said. "I think so, but I can't remember for sure. When-when I first saw the picture I felt as if I'd just been punched. But, honestly, I can't place it."

She wrapped her arms around herself as if she felt suddenly chilled. "Why would anybody...? Wasn't once enough?"

The anguish of her question cut him to the quick. The truth of it, though, was that he now believed she was being stalked. n.o.body made a copy of a centuries-old dagger for a joke. Uppermost in his mind when he had hung up the phone had been the question: who on earth would want to stalk Emmaline Conard? It wasn't even as if she had a disgruntled former boyfriend.

And then he had realized. Her reaction to the dagger had been the answer.

Emmaline Conard was being stalked by the man who had nearly killed her ten years ago in Laramie.

Chapter 9.

The storm continued to build as the evening deepened. Windows rattled ceaselessly, and the old house became noticeably draughty. Blowing snow nearly obscured the lights of the houses across the street and next door.

Emma pulled the curtains closed across the bow window behind the Christmas tree, then curled up on the couch with a book. Gage had vanished into the study directly after dinner, explaining that he needed to make some phone calls. Nearly two hours had pa.s.sed, and now calls were beginning to come in for him. She wished she didn't think it had something to do with what he had learned about the dagger.

In fact, she wished she could just concentrate on the book until she was too tired to do anything but sleep. Instead, she kept feeling that something was about to pounce on her from the dark. Instead, her mind kept drifting back to what had happened between her and Gage yesterday. Caught between fright and yearning, she was too restless to read, and almost too restless to sit.

The things Gage had made her feel were too wondrous for words, and she was honest enough to admit she wanted to feel them again. She would give almost anything if he would just walk into the room right now and take her into his arms. She wanted his kisses and touches, wanted to feel again all those marvelous, dizzying feelings. And surely, after last night, he must realize she was willing.

But he was no longer interested, and the realization cut her to the quick. Her inability to have children had turned him off, too. She could place no other interpretation on the brotherly way he had been treating her since. After all, now that he knew she couldn't get pregnant, what else could be holding him back from taking advantage of her obvious willingness? Only the fact that now that he knew she wasn't a whole woman, he no longer found her to be attractive.

The understanding made her ache, but she forced herself to face it. She prided herself on her honesty, and it would do her no good to build castles in the air, anyway. In the long run, she told herself, it was far better this way. If he made love to her because she was "safe", or avoided her because of it, it made no difference in the long term. Either way he would move on. And either way Emma would continue to be alone.

So maybe it was infinitely better if she didn't get a clearer idea than she already had of all that she was missing. Yes, of course it was.