finally managed to speak. “No police. Just take me home.”
“Home? Your mother sold everything and left town after your dad died.”
His heart was already racing. When Emma said, “Take me home with you,” it nearly beat its way out of his chest.
* * *
The closer they got to the Serenity square, the more Emma started to recall about her past. Yes, there were differences in the town but much was unchanged. At least she thought so. Given her lingering feelings of confusion, nothing was certain, least of all fleeting memories.
The denim-clad man who had greeted her with such surprise was the most familiar of all. Clearly he knew her. And he knew where she had once lived. That would be very helpful, particularly if she could get him to fill her in without revealing how little she, herself, recalled, including his full name.
The logo on the truck had said Wright Ranch and she had recognized it immediately, so she assumed his last name was Wright. As for his first name, it kept dancing around the edges of her mind like a will-o’-the-wisp. It was on the tip of her tongue, so close she felt almost able to say it, yet so obscure she feared she might make a mistake if she tried.
For some reason, she kept thinking that hiding her illness, or whatever it was, would be for the best, at least until she knew more about herself. Since she had no idea who had shot at her as she’d fled, she wasn’t ready to trust anybody. Not even the man seated beside her.
The hood of the sweatshirt the kind trucker had given her masked her cheeks enough that she was able to sneak a sidelong glance at this man without making it obvious. He was definitely good-looking, in a rugged sort of way. His hands, clenched on the wheel, were strong and masculine. His jaw was square. His hair—what little she could see of it sticking out from beneath the baseball cap he wore, was as dark and richly brown as his eyes.
More than that, she was getting a sense of belonging, as if she and this person had once been close. For one thing, he had recognized her. For another, his expression had been poignant, as if he cared, maybe even had missed her.
Closing her eyes, Emma let her thoughts drift. She considered praying but before she had time to begin, a name popped into her mind.
“Travis.”
His head snapped around.
“Your name is Travis.”
“Of course it is. And you’re Emma Lynn Landers, the woman who broke my heart six years ago and ran off with a guitar-playing Romeo. What of it?”
All Emma could do was bite her lip to control her emotions. She now knew a little about her past, although it didn’t sound as if she’d been a very nice person.
She took a moment to compose herself before she said, “I’m sorry, Travis. I am so, so sorry.”
He huffed. “Yeah, so am I.”
* * *
Ever since Emma had blurted out his name so strangely, Travis had been surreptitiously studying her. She was hunched down as if trying to make herself invisible and kept glancing in the side mirror of his truck.
“Why are you doing that, Emma?”
“Doing what?”
“Checking behind us. Is somebody after you?”
“No, I...”
“Then why are you acting so scared?”
“I guess I’m just overtired.”
“Right. And I’m imagining things. Is that what you want me to believe?”
When she didn’t answer, he found himself mimicking her actions and checking the road behind them. “Now you’ve got me seeing things. I actually do think we’re being followed.”
“No!” She slid lower in the seat, pulled the hood tighter. “We can’t be. There’s no way they could have known how I got here.”
“They, who?”
“I don’t know.”
Travis shrugged. “Have it your way. The truck I thought was tailing us just turned off. You can sit up now.”
“You said that on purpose to scare me, didn’t you?”
“Actually, no.” Travis had noticed a dark pickup pacing them. Since the state of Arkansas required only rear license plates, there was no way he could tell if the truck was local. “I did see someone.”
“Are they gone now?”
“Apparently.”
She swiveled to look behind them, seeing only the towed stock trailer. “How can you be sure? Maybe they just pulled really close so we couldn’t see them anymore.”
“In that case, they’ll pass us if I pull over,” Travis said logically.
His rig was too long to park next to the county courthouse so he continued out of town as far as the little league baseball field before easing off the road and turning to face her.
“Look at me, Emma.”
She was concentrating on the passing traffic, instead, peering at it as if one of the vehicles might be carrying public enemy number one.
Travis reached to touch her arm.
She jumped at the contact.
“All right,” he said, chagrined. “Why are you here and why did you come to me?”
“I was riding by, saw your truck and recognized the ranch logo.”
“Riding? How?”
“In a semi. I’d been hitchhiking.”
Frustrated by not being able to look directly into her eyes, Travis made a calculated decision. At this point it didn’t matter whether Emma got mad at him or not. He wasn’t going to let her hide her face. Not if she wanted him to take her the rest of the way to the ranch.
Keeping his left hand on the steering wheel, he ran his right arm along the back of the seat until he was close enough to grab the fabric at the back of her hood.
One quick yank was all it took to uncover her head.
She was startled, of course, but that was not what caught and held his attention.
Her hair was wild and tangled, as if she hadn’t brushed it in days. Her blue eyes were swimming. Worst of all, there was an angry-looking bruise on her cheek. It was strong and dark, fresh rather than fading, and the sight of it tied his gut in a knot.
“Emma! Who did that to you?”
As she turned toward him more fully, tears tipped over her lower lashes and began to slide silently down her chapped, bruised cheeks.
He could tell
