imperative that she see them soon. Lucas’s boss had recognized one of the men. The guy had a criminal record and had served jail time. He’d also worked for Arianna when she’d owned Emma’s diner. Lucas didn’t tell Emma that. He didn’t want to influence her perception, taint her view of the photos.
“I’m up to it,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll get changed and then we can head out.”
She walked out of the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated, and Lucas hated that he couldn’t change that. He’d wanted to come to Bea’s place with good news, but all he had was more questions than answers.
Hopefully, the video stills would yield more information. If Emma positively identified her attacker, they could get his picture out to the public and offer a reward for information leading to his arrest. If the guy was smart, he’d turn himself in. If he wasn’t, he’d try to hide. Either way, he was going to be found and he was going to be thrown in jail.
Lucas would make sure of it.
He snagged another handful of raisins and walked into the living room to wait with Bea.
EIGHT
Emma grabbed a pair of dark jeans and a thick sweater from her dresser and changed quickly, her heart beating a hard, heavy rhythm. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look at the video stills. It was more that she didn’t want to be reminded of what she’d gone through. It was bad enough that every time she closed her eyes, she saw her attacker lunging from the darkness. She didn’t want to go through pictures, hunting for him.
She’d do what she had to, though, because she wanted the police to catch him and throw him in jail.
When she was done, she’d go to the diner, put in a few hours of hard work. That would clear her head, get her more focused.
“Emma?” Bea called from the hallway. “Are you almost ready? Your young man is waiting.”
“He’s not my young man!” she called. “And I’m coming!”
She grabbed her purse and cell phone and opened the bedroom door, nearly running into Lucas’s muscular chest.
“Oops! Sorry!” She backed up, stumbling a little in her haste.
He put a hand on her waist, holding her steady. “Careful, Emma. You don’t need any more injuries.”
“Not with everything I have to do in the next couple of weeks. It would be really difficult to run a diner from a hospital bed,” she joked, sidling past him, her cheeks hot for reasons she refused to acknowledge. After she’d broken up with Camden, she’d told herself she was done with men. Finished. Forever. No more relationships. Nothing was going to change her mind about that.
No one was going to change it.
Not even Lucas.
“We’re not going to let it come to that,” he responded as they walked into the living room. Henry was lying on the floor there, nose to nose with Fluffy. Apparently, the little dog had decided she wasn’t going to be eaten by the giant beast of a dog.
“We?” she met Lucas’s gaze, her breath catching as she stared into his dark green eyes.
“You. Me. The two of us,” he clarified, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering.
“I—”
“Are we ready?” Bea walked into the room, her coat on, an old leather handbag clutched in her hand.
“For what?”
“Church.” Bea smoothed her white hair and smiled. Obviously, she’d forgotten that it was Saturday. Again.
“It’s not Sunday,” Emma said wearily. “I have to go to the police station, Bea. Lucas needs me to look at some pictures so I can identify the guy who attacked me.”
“They have pictures?” Bea exclaimed. “I hope that means the police will find him soon. I’ll feel so much safer when they do.”
“We both will. Do you want to come with us?”
“I think I’ll just stay here and read.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “Actually, I may have a meeting tonight.”
“Meeting?” It was the first Emma had heard of it.
“The knitting club at church. They make hats for the premature babies at the hospital. I haven’t been able to attend since my accident, so the ladies decided to come here this month. You did say it was Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“Then we must be having the meeting. I’ll just call Edna to be sure.” She lifted the old-fashioned rotary phone that hung from the wall near the kitchen, her brow furrowing. “I’m sure I know her number.”
“Hold on, Bea. I’ll get it.” Emma grabbed the church directory from a drawer in the coffee table and found Edna’s number. It only took a few minutes to confirm the knitting group meeting, another few minutes to make sure that the neighbors knew that Bea was going to be home alone. She helped Bea find reading glasses, handed her the book she’d been reading, let Fluffy outside and then back in. All with Lucas following her around, trying to help, making himself a part of what she was doing.
“Okay. I’m ready. Finally,” she said as she grabbed her coat from the closet.
Lucas took it from her hands, helped her into it. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
“Of course.”
“You’ve been doing a lot, Emma. Probably too much.”
“What choice do I have? I have to make sure Bea is okay. I’m the only family she has.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Not a thing. Unless you’re good at painting. The diner still needs another coat on the walls,” she said only half kidding.
“I’m a fair hand at painting,” Lucas replied. “I still paint my parents’ front porch every spring.”
“Do you really?” She smiled, remembering the times when they’d worked together, whitewashing the porch posts and splattering paint all over each other in the process.
“Sure.” He called for Henry and opened the front door. “Keeps my paint arm in practice, so when emergencies come up, I’m ready.”
Emma walked outside, cool clean evening air filling her lungs. It felt good, and she wanted to stand on the front porch for a while and just...breathe.
“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Lucas said. “There’s nothing quite like Sagebrush in December.”
He flashed a smile, and Emma found herself returning it. Lucas had always had that effect on her. It had never mattered what kind of mood her parents had put her in or how difficult things had been at home; when she was with him, she’d felt happy.
“Come on. Let’s head
