red and her voice was tight with anger. “How could you do this?” she repeated. “You’ve hurt me again, but this will be the last time.”
“Give me that,” he said, taking the paper from her to smooth it out and look at it. As he did, she wiggled away and opened her car door.
Determined to get answers from her, Tom reached out to push the car door closed again, stepping close with his hip against the door so she couldn’t get inside while he smoothed the paper more to look at it. “Don’t go anywhere, Emily, until we get this straightened out.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do,” she said in a low voice that was filled with rage.
He paid no attention to her as he focused on the computer printout. Startled, Tom realized it was a copy of a very familiar snapshot.
“Emily,” he said, his anger changing to curiosity, “you got this in an email? This is Natalie Valentine and her kids. She’s Jeremy Valentine’s widow, who owns the Cimarron Rose Bed-and-Breakfast. Why have you filed for divorce over Natalie Valentine?”
Wide-eyed, Emily looked up at Tom and then glanced at the picture. “Jeremy Valentine?” she repeated, sounding dazed. “That’s his wife? You told me about his death.”
“That’s right. I told you how he died on a mission and my promise to him to take care of his family if he didn’t make it back.”
“I remember that,” Emily said, sounding stunned and confused. “She looked vaguely familiar, but I was in so much shock, I just didn’t put anything together.” She sagged against the car.
“Jeremy was shot,” Tom reminded her. “We were on a mission in Iraq to rescue three hostages and Jeremy was shot twice. I promised him if he didn’t make it, I’d take care of his family,” Tom said, momentarily lost in remembering the battle, the blood, the noise of guns and men yelling. Tom looked at Emily, who had grown pale. Her eyes no longer held anger but uncertainty; he was sure she remembered him telling her about Jeremy’s death.
“He was so worried about his family because he didn’t expect to make it. I told him I’d be there for them if he couldn’t.” Tom held out the picture. “This is Natalie, and she’s doing a great job being brave and upbeat and pouring herself into taking care of their two kids.”
“Heavens, Tom,” Emily whispered, shaking her head. “Those kids are Jeremy Valentine’s? I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Jeremy was their dad. They’re really sweet kids. Colby is four—just like our Ryan when we lost him. Colby has autism. He’s gotten accustomed to me and he’s pretty relaxed around me. Lexie is two and thinks she’s seventeen. She’s pretty and cute. I just try to help out, because there’s always something that needs fixing at the B and B. I try to be a man in the kids’ lives and do things around the place or with the kids that Jeremy would do. Jeremy was one of the best.”
Emily focused on him with a piercing look. “Tom, have you slept with Natalie?”
“Never,” he answered with a clear conscience. “That isn’t what this is about. I’m helping Natalie out, for Jeremy. That’s all there is to it. He was a buddy and he died for his country.” Tom gazed into Emily’s green eyes and wondered whether she believed him or not. “It would be a good idea if you two met. Natalie has a sweet family.”
“Oh, Tom,” Emily said. She looked as if she’d been punched in the gut. Her shoulders sagged and she frowned. She ran her hand across her brow. “I’ve made a big mistake then,” she repeated.
“I think you did,” he said quietly. “But not one that can’t be fixed.”
Emily nodded. “I owe you an apology, because I believed this, even though it was so unlike you. The picture really shocked me.”
“Forget that. We’ve got this ironed out between us now as far as I’m concerned, and I’ll arrange for you and Natalie to meet.”
“You never told me about seeing them. If it was just to be a help and do this for Jeremy, why didn’t you tell me? I could have done some things for them, too.”
He felt a ripple of impatience. “You haven’t been interested in anything I’ve done for a long time. We don’t keep up with each other any longer. I don’t know any more about what you’re doing than you know about what I’m doing. We’re out of each other’s lives now.” He looked down at the papers in his hand. “This divorce was inevitable.”
Clamping her lips shut, she nodded. “That’s true. I can see why you didn’t tell me.” She frowned. “So this troll just sent the message to upset and hurt me,” Emily said quietly, as if more to herself than to Tom, but he heard her.
“You got this from Maverick?”
“Yes.”
“Damnation,” Tom said, his temper rising as he thought about someone hiding behind a fictitious name, sending hateful messages to try to hurt Emily, who had already suffered the worst possible losses. He had failed Emily in the worst possible way before, but he wasn’t going to fail her this time. “There’s too much damn hate in this world and we don’t need this going on in Royal. Maverick.” He said the name with distaste. “Someone has hurt you once, but I damn well can see that he doesn’t hurt you again. First of all, unless you’ve already called him, I’m calling Nathan Battle and letting him know about this,” Tom said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Sheriff Battle?”
“Yes. This week it’s a hateful message to you. Who knows what this might escalate into next or how much this troll might hurt someone else? For some reason, he or she or they want to hurt you or you wouldn’t have received that email. But I can’t imagine you have an enemy in this world.”
“Frankly, Tom, I didn’t think about calling the sheriff. I was thinking more about us.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. If you get another message from Maverick, call me the minute you do.”
“You saw the message—it was on target,” she said quietly, and his anger increased at hearing the pain in her voice.
“It was a lie meant to hurt you. I’ll call Nathan right now.”
Tom’s anger boiled and he was frustrated not to be able to take more direct action. When Nathan answered, Tom quickly told him about the email. After a minute or two, he turned to Emily. “Nathan wants to come pick up your CPU. He knows it most likely won’t do any good, but he doesn’t want to overlook anything.”
“I don’t mind if he checks the CPU and the email,” she answered. “Goodness, I have nothing to hide. I’m going back into town, so I can drop it off at his office.”
Tom smiled, then went back to talking to the sheriff for a minute before ending the call. “We’ll go by his office. I’ll help you get your CPU.”
“That’s fine. How do you suppose someone got that picture? Do you remember who took it?”
“There was some guy, about seventy years old, staying
