But her expression told Colin otherwise. The sheen to her brown eyes and the trembling of her hand as she ran it over the blanket indicated her distress more than her words. She bit her teeth into her lower lip and looked away.
Colin pulled a straight-backed chair close to the bed and sat, wanting to tell her how he came to be in her room.
“You’re wasting your time, Reverend. I’m beyond saving.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
“Emma St. James.”
“The daughter of Marlena Howard. For as long as I can remember my mother has been the screen goddess of America. I can’t say that my life has been church bazaars and Sunday school classes.”
“So I shouldn’t waste my time talking to you?”
“I don’t think God even knows I exist.” Her hands knotted the blanket.
“Why do you say that?”
“That man who left told me my—” she swallowed hard “—my brother was murdered. He thinks I know something about it. I don’t remember anything after pulling up to the cabin. I can’t even help—” She squeezed her eyes closed. A tear leaked out the corner and rolled down her cheek. Then another.
The sight of the wet trail robbed him of words. He pushed down his own rising emotions and tried to think of something appropriate to say, some way to offer comfort. But what played across his mind was this woman, paralyzed in the middle of the highway, watching his car coming at her.
“Please leave,” she whispered, swiping at her tears.
“Sometimes it’s good to talk to someone when you’re troubled.”
Her lower lip quivered. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
The vulnerability in her voice tore at his heart. “How about the beginning?”
Another tear coursed down her face. “Too long a story. Not enough time.”
“I’m a good listener. And I have the time.”
She shook her head slightly, then winced as though the movement had caused pain. “I want to be left alone.” She settled back on the pillow and closed her eyes.
He rose, hovering over her, a part of him hoping she would change her mind and use him as a sounding board. But the other part needed to leave. The space in the room seemed to shrink to the size of a coffin. His breathing became shallow gasps. The last time he had been responsible for someone being hurt was during the Gulf War. After piecing his life back together, he’d promised himself he would never harm another human being. And he hadn’t. Until now. He pivoted toward the door.
He pulled himself together enough to present a calm facade to the people in the hallway, but guilt plagued him all the way to the chapel. Inside the small, dimly lit room, a peace washed over him as he sat in the pew before the altar, clasped his hands together and prayed.
She stumbled, her knees hitting the hard-packed earth first. Pain blasted through her as though a gun had gone off inside her. Hands braced in front of her, she scrambled to her feet and kept moving forward. Every part of her hurt, from the frantic beating of her heart to the soles of her bare feet. But she couldn’t stop. The sounds of her pursuers grew closer and closer until she felt talons grip her and swing her around. Two hideous faces loomed in front of her.
Emma bolted up in bed, the sudden motion causing pain. Black. An inky curtain taunted her as she scanned her surroundings. Where am I? Why do I hurt so much?
Why can’t I see?
Then the memories flooded her. The accident. Her brother. The police visiting. The continuous blackness.
She sagged back against the firm mattress, the darkness still there even though her eyes were wide-open. From all the sounds outside her door, it had to be daytime.
Every inch of her hurt. The pounding in her head overshadowed the deep ache in her shoulder, the throbbing in her foot. She touched the bandage, remembering the searing pain that had ripped through her just seconds before…Before what? She couldn’t remember. Everything after she had climbed from her T-bird at the cabin was a blank except the pain piercing through her shoulder like a red-hot poker.
The swishing sound of the door opening alerted her to someone entering her room. She automatically looked toward where she believed the door was even though her world was dark, no face materializing before her.
“Who is it?” She hated the need to ask, but she hated even more knowing someone else was in the room seeing her like this. She felt so vulnerable, so alone.
“Your dad, Emma.”
The deep baritone of her father’s voice sliced through her fragile control, causing every muscle to tense, a different kind of hurt, buried for years, surfacing. She tried to visualize on the black screen in her mind what her father looked like. All she could recall was the last picture she’d seen of him in the newspaper a year before. Grainy, his features vague. The photo of him was at a distance. Like their relationship.
“I’ve come to take you home.”
Her hands curled around the covers. “Where’s that? Your home? Mine? Mother’s?”
“Mine.”
He said it with such force and confidence that Emma blinked. “No.”
“What do you mean, no? Your life may be in danger. You’re—” He paused as though he couldn’t think of a word to describe the condition her life was in. “You’re injured. I won’t accept your answer.”
His powerful voice bombarded her at close range. If she reached out, she could probably touch him. She balled her hands into tighter fists even though the action caused her more pain. She concentrated on the pain streaking up her arm to take her mind off her reeling emotions. “You have no choice. I am not leaving with you.”
“You need special care. You need to be protected.”
Where were you when I was growing up? She wanted to shout the question at him. Instead, she pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything because she knew it was useless to argue with the man. He was a force to be reckoned with, and right now she had no strength to fight anyone.
“You aren’t thinking clearly, Emma. Someone murdered Derek. Someone shot you.”
That much she knew. It was all the space between those two events that was blank—like her view of the world through her eyes. Dark. Nothing.
He touched her arm. She winced and tried to pull away, but his fingers clasped around her. She thought of her dream, of the talons gripping her.
Frustration, mixed with hopelessness, swamped her. Tears welled up, but she choked them back. Not in front of this man who didn’t have a heart. Never again. Those years long ago crying herself to sleep had taught her the uselessness of tears.
He
