past has nothing to do with the here and now. I have hired a bodyguard for you.”
“No. I don’t want anything from you. Don’t you get it? I can’t see. I don’t even remember what happened. I’m certainly no help to the sheriff. I’m not a threat to anyone.” She searched the covers for the call button. She couldn’t take another moment with the man who had given her up and never had anything to do with her after her mother divorced him, except an occasional call on her birthday or during the holidays.
“I’m not walking away this time, Emma.”
He must have moved from the bed toward the door. There was an odd sound to his voice, a thickness, but she didn’t want to dwell on what it could be—probably frustration at not being able to control her. Control was paramount to her father. Wasn’t that one of the reasons her mother had left him?
A bone-weary exhaustion compelled her to close her eyes, to relax the taut set of her body. It took too much energy to remain on guard. “I don’t want you here. Please leave,” she murmured through dry lips. She needed water, but she didn’t want him to see her try to find the pitcher and plastic cup the nurse had left on the beside table. She couldn’t appear helpless in front of him. Strength was the only thing he related to.
“For the moment. But I’ll be back, Emma.”
The sound of the door closing drew a breath of relief from her. She waited a few minutes, gathering her energy before attempting to get a glass of water. She tried lifting her uninjured arm, but her confrontation with her father had sapped more of her strength than she had thought. Parched, she lay helpless in her bed.
Why is this happening to me?
She wanted to scream and hide at the same time. She wanted to sleep but was afraid the nightmare would return. She wanted to be in control of her life. She wanted her big brother to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. Over the years she had wanted a lot of things, but that didn’t—
“Miss St. James?”
She gasped, totally taken by surprise. That thought sent panic through her. So exposed. Alone.
“Colin Fitzpatrick.”
“The reverend? Why are you back?” Please leave me alone. Can’t you see I don’t want visitors? Can’t you see I’m barely holding myself together?
“I couldn’t leave without telling you why I visited in the first place.”
There was a long moment of silence that heightened Emma’s feeling of vulnerability. She had no idea what was really going on around her.
“I was driving the car that hit you.”
“Hit me?” Emma murmured, her forehead wrinkling.
“Last night my SUV struck you on the highway.” As that sentence tumbled from his mouth, Colin’s guilt prodded him forward toward the woman who looked lost in the hospital bed, as though she was unraveling before his eyes.
“You were there?” Her frown deepened.
“I tried to avoid you. I thought I had. But—” His words died on his lips.
She touched her shoulder where the bandage was. “I thought I was shot.” Closing her eyes, she buried her face in her hands.
“You were.”
With a shake of her head she looked in his direction. “I’m confused. I wish I remembered what happened. I was shot but you hit me, too?”
Colin nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him and said, “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? What kind of game are you playing? Who are you, really?”
The questions lashed out at him, and he took a step back. “I’m exactly who I said I was. I’m a minister. I was driving home from a conference with some members of the youth group at my church when the accident occurred.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
The confused look on her face spoke volumes to him. He wondered about the cynical expression as he said, “I want to help you. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. I told you earlier that I was a good listener. If I—”
“Please,” she interrupted, turning her head away from him. “I just want to be left—”
The door opened. Emma stopped in mid-sentence, the sound prompting her to glance toward the person entering. Colin didn’t need any introductions to the older woman making her entrance. Her honey-colored hair fell to her shoulders in thick, lustrous waves, not a hint of gray. Her beautiful, flawless face held no wrinkles, as though time had stopped for her at thirty or she’d had the use of a good plastic surgeon. Her wide, cobalt-blue eyes were full of concern as Marlena Howard walked toward the bed where her daughter lay.
“Emma, I got here as fast as I could, darling.”
“Marlena?” Emma blinked. “I thought you were on location.”
“Yes, but for you I left. I told the director I would be back when my baby was better.” Marlena leaned over and kissed Emma on the cheek. “Just as soon as you can leave, I’ll take you home where I can pamper you.”
“You know about Derek?”
Tears sprang into Marlena’s eyes, slipping down her well-preserved face. “Yes, baby. What you must have gone through.” She took her daughter’s hand and clasped it between hers. “I don’t understand any of this. Who would want to hurt him—or you?”
Emma’s lower lip quivered.
“We talked right before I left to shoot the movie. Everything was great.”
Colin felt as though he was watching a performance by an accomplished actress and he didn’t like that thought. The dutiful sorrow was in the woman’s voice, the tears in her eyes, but something was missing. He stepped forward. “I’m Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick.”
Marlena focused on him for a few seconds, then shifted to her daughter. “Emma, is there something you aren’t telling me? I was assured by your doctor that you would be all right in time.”
“I can’t see!” A hysterical ring entered Emma’s voice. Her teeth bit into her lower lip to still its trembling.
“I know, baby. But the doctor told me there wasn’t any physical reason, that with time you’ll be as good as new.” Marlena glanced around the room. “I can’t believe you got the flowers I sent you already. I know lilies are your favorite. I told the florist to fill your room with them.”
Colin watched Emma cringe when her mother talked about her blindness. She withdrew further as the older woman chatted as though what had happened to her daughter wasn’t that big a deal.
“Those aren’t from you, Marlena.”
“They aren’t? Then who sent them?” A rare wrinkle
