Kitabı oxu: «Protected Hearts»
The night was dark and Emma shivered despite the warmth of the evening.
Sundance was nowhere in sight. Emma glanced next door at the empty house. No telling what the attraction was, but the dog was always lured by places he shouldn’t explore.
Hearing a scratching noise from the far side of the vacant house, 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 flicked in the supposedly vacant home. And not normal lights. This looked more like candlelight, shimmering and uneven. Emma swallowed an unexpected taste of fear. Where was Sundance?
Twigs cracked as she shifted her feet, making her jerk around. Her heart pounding, Emma told herself to get a grip. There was no point coming unglued over nothing.
Turning back around, she slammed into something hard, something warm, something alive. The scream in her throat emerged as somthing between a shriek and a croak.
“It’s you!” Seth McAllister spoke in disbelief.
BONNIE K. WINN
is a hopeless romantic who’s written incessantly since the third grade. So it seemed only natural that she turn to romance writing. A seasoned author of historical and contemporary romance, her bestselling books have won numerous awards. Affaire de Coeur chose her as one of the Top Ten Romance Writers in America.
Bonnie loves writing contemporary romance because she can set her stories in the modern cities close to her heart and explore the endlessly fascinating strengths of today’s woman.
Protected Hearts
Bonnie K. Winn
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
My Beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.
—Song of Solomon 2:10–11
For Marita. What would I have done without you after moving to this alien planet? You are friend, family, cohort in criminally delicious humor.
I miss you, Montana girl.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Letter to Reader
Prologue
Los Angeles
Rage made the wait tolerable. As Randy watched, assistant district attorney Emily Perry finally arrived home. But the long summer day still held too much light. He needed the cover of darkness.
He’d warned her. His brother was only eighteen—too young to spend the next decade in prison. But A.D.A. Perry hadn’t let up, instead suggesting Kenny needed to be locked away. “For his own good.”
What did she know about it? With her perfect job, house and family… Sure, Ken had pulled a job with a gun, but he was just a kid. Up till then nothing on his rap sheet was felony stuff. But Perry insisted it was only a matter of time before armed robbery escalated to murder. And she didn’t care that Ken was too young to be housed with violent cons. She claimed it was the only way to turn his life around. Since Ken was too old to be sent to juvenile, she said she would recommend the safest prison possible. As though Ken could be safe in any prison. But the D.A. wouldn’t agree to probation, said Ken could be paroled in two years if he kept his nose clean. As long as D.A. Perry was around, his brother wouldn’t stand a chance.
Minutes turned to hours as night set in. Finally, the lights went out in the windows at the front of the house. Only an hour more and then he could be sure. He checked the time every few minutes, the indigo glow of his watch dial the solitary light in the car. Finally he was sure.
Emily Perry left her neighbor’s home by the back door, entering her own yard by the gate at the back that connected the two houses. She felt the lateness of the hour in the inky darkness and the fatigue that played between her shoulder blades.
Emily ran a hand through her short, dark hair. She’d stayed longer than she’d expected, but she didn’t mind donating her time to the neighborhood alliance. As legal counsel, she saved them fees that could instead be used to improve the park-and-rec center.
She rounded the garage, then headed toward the back door, hoping Tom hadn’t locked her out. She glanced at the kitchen window and paused, wondering at the brilliance of the light. It took a few moments for her senses to register the pungent, unexpected smell of smoke.
Tom! Rachel! If they were asleep…
Panicked, she ran. As she neared the house she felt the heat. Before she could reach the door, the bedroom windows exploded, spraying shards of glass. Flames belched out as the sudden supply of air fed the fire.
Screaming for Tom and Rachel, Emily grabbed the doorknob. She ignored the searing burn the hot metal pressed into her hand as she frantically tried to turn the knob. To her horror, it was locked. She spun around and raced toward the front of the house.
As Emily shouted, JoAnn and Paul Morris, her next-door neighbors, ran outside.
“Call 911!”
JoAnn rushed back inside to comply.
Another window blew, the small explosion booming in the quiet street. Heedless of the danger, Emily tried to get inside.
“Emily, no!” Paul grabbed her as she reached for the door.
“I have to get inside!” she screamed, adrenaline propelling her forward.
But Paul was stronger, holding her back.
“Rachel! Tom!” she screamed.
Acrid smoke poured from the windows, searing her lungs, stinging so badly tears poured from her eyes. Or maybe they were from crying, since sobs consumed her as rapidly as the fire that ripped through the house. And took those she loved.
Chapter One
Rosewood, Texas. Two years later.
Seth McAllister ambled down the quiet street of the very quiet town. Rosewood wasn’t what he was used to, but it was what he wanted now.
Having traded in his architectural design firm for a return to his roots, he hoped to establish a remodeling business. The local hardware store should provide a good source of leads.
Spotting the store, he paused outside to glance in. As he did, a woman kneeling in the window display area whirled around. He caught a quick and vivid image of long, blond hair, an arresting face and a slim body.
An instant later her face was even with his. She was obviously startled. Her eyes, an incredible turquoise, widened and her mouth opened a fraction.
Seth pulled back, the contact too close, too immediate.
At the same time, the woman rocked on her heels, looking abashed.
Seth quickly stepped to the door and pushed it open. As he entered, the woman scrambled from the window ledge.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he explained.
She brushed her hands against her jeans. “I’m not usually so jumpy.”
After an awkward moment, he smiled. “Maybe we can start over. I’m Seth McAllister and I’m looking for the manager.”
“Oh,” she replied, still looking flustered. “I’m Emma Duvere.” She gestured halfheartedly toward the window. “I don’t work here. I’m decorating. But you don’t want to hear about that.” She took a breath, before her words came spilling out again. “You said you’re looking for the manager. That’s Luke and he’s out right now. Could you come back later?”
Seth nodded.
“Or you could leave a message for him,” she continued, looking for a paper and pencil in the maze of cartons surrounding her.
“No, thanks. I’ll come back.”
“Okay then.” Mild curiosity kindled in her expression.
But he’d moved to Rosewood to avoid explanations. “Thanks.” Seth left quickly, glancing at his watch. He had an appointment with the realtor at the house he’d rented. It was just as well. He didn’t want to run into the window decorator again. He’d had enough of questions, concern and curiosity for one lifetime.
Emma stared after Seth’s tall, athletic form as he exited. Rosewood’s population was small, but she hadn’t run into him before. She would have noticed his handsome face, his dark hair that looked slightly too long, as if he needed it cut.
Funny. His face so close to hers for those few seconds had been disturbing. She’d had the odd sensation of looking deep into his dark eyes. It had made her feel vulnerable, this soul-searching moment between two strangers.
“Who was that?” Cindy Mallory asked, bringing in a box of fabric.
“Seth McAllister,” she replied, absently rubbing the weltlike scar on the palm of her right hand.
“Well, well. Stranger in town,” Cindy said, smiling. “Tall, dark and definitely handsome.”
Emma reached for the box in Cindy’s arms. “Thanks for helping me today.”
Cindy’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t even subtle.”
Emma kept her gaze on the fabric. “What?”
“Let me put it this way. If you’d been driving and changed lanes the way you just changed the subject, you’d be one big car wreck.”
Sighing, Emma dropped the fabric. “Sorry. It was just…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Emma couldn’t explain the connection she had seemed to make with him. It wasn’t something she could put into words. “He could be new to Rosewood.”
“We’ll have to alert the Welcome Wagon. If there’s no Mrs. McAllister in the picture, every single woman in town will volunteer for the assignment.”
Emma doubted he was attached. His eyes were filled with too much loneliness. “Hmm.”
“You’re being the enigmatic one now. Something I didn’t notice about him?”
Emma turned to look at the window, her back to her friend. “No. Just remembering that it wasn’t so long ago that I was a stranger here.”
Cindy’s tone softened. “But it’s home now, isn’t it?”
Emma nodded. She didn’t like to dwell on the time two years earlier when she’d first arrived in Rosewood. She’d left her parents, family and friends behind with no certainty that she would ever see them again.
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.
Startled from her suspicions, Emma listened for Sundance. She heard a faint barking from the opposite side of the yard farthest from her home. “That sounds like him.”
As she followed the barking, Seth followed her.
It sounded as though the yelping came from underneath the house. Trying to keep one eye on the man while at the same time watching out for Sundance, she crept along until she heard a whimper. “Sundance?”
The whimper grew louder.
“Where is that coming from?” Seth asked, reaching into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a flashlight, turning the bright beam on the path.
The house was on blocks, but wood skirting covered the open area. Cringing, she knew Sundance could find the smallest spot to crawl through and apparently had done just that. “I’m guessing he’s probably underneath the house.”
Seth directed the light over the closed area. “I don’t see how.”
“Terriers are bred to go to ground—to get into impossibly tight spots, then rout out their quarry.”
“Wasn’t aware there was any quarry to be hunted.”
“The house has been empty for a while. Probably field mice have found their way inside.”
“Great,” he muttered. “So, how do we get the dog out?”
“I’ll look for the spot he managed to crawl through and try to open it a little. Can I use the flashlight?”
“No.”
Fear crowded her throat and made her step back. The flashlight was more than adequate as a weapon. But she refused to let panic show in her voice. “What?”
He knelt down. Then, as she would have done, he crawled along the siding, poking for an opening. Was this chivalry? Or did he just want to get rid of her faster?
After several yards, Emma heard Sundance growl. He’d no doubt caught the man’s scent. “Quiet, Sundance.” The growl gave way to a bark, then silence.
“This must be it,” Seth announced, pulling on a flap of board that was now firmly entrenched in the soil. As the dog had wriggled through, he’d cut off his escape when the board had been pushed against some hilled dirt. Seth lifted the board and Sundance burst free.
Standing on his back legs, the dog pawed Emma’s knees until she picked him up. “You rascal,” she chided.
Satisfied that he was still at the center of her affection, Sundance yelped to be released.
“Does he do this sort of thing often?” Seth asked, dusting off his jeans.
Chagrined both by her dog’s actions and her own suspicions, Emma tried to smile as she put Sundance down. “Animals can be a bit unpredictable.” The words were scarcely out of her mouth when the dog latched on to the leg of Seth’s pants, growling again.
“Sundance!” Now thoroughly embarrassed, Emma reached out to unfasten the dog’s grip. “I’m really sorry.”
The man’s face was too shadowed to tell if he was amused or angry. “Looks like he needs to learn not to bite the hand that rescues him.”
Probably, but she didn’t appreciate the criticism. And the tartness of her feelings crept into her voice as she grabbed the dog again. “Thank you for retrieving Sundance.” She wrenched out the rest. “And…I’m sorry he didn’t seem grateful.”
“It’s all right. Now you just have to decide whether I really live here or not.” Turning, Seth left as quietly as he’d arrived.
And Emma’s fear came snaking back. Clutching her dog close, she ran. And didn’t look back.
