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So that was Emily Robb.
The problem of how to meet her was solved. He watched until she reached her car – an old Tempo, 1990, maybe – then he shut the door. It didn’t do anything to shut out her indignation.
People reacted differently to a blank slate. Some rushed to please, some got angry, some got scared. He’d been up all night and had reached the point of not fully trusting his impressions, but it was clear her efforts to please weren’t for his benefit. Daniel’s, he supposed. Or maybe the community’s.
Hard to know what to think about her. Flustered, emotional, a little on the schoolmarmish side. At least, that was what she presented. For some reason he kind of liked her. But that didn’t have to be a complication.
He yawned and rubbed sandpapery eyes. His files were downloaded, passwords set up, contacts alerted. Time for coffee and a shower. Then he’d go exploring.
Small Town Cinderella
CARON TODD
MILLS & BOON
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To my parents, whose appreciation of books and
respect for language – its poetry and its rules –
helped me find this very enjoyable path.
CHAPTER ONE
THE MORE Emily thought about Daniel missing the wedding, the more concerned she became. Nearly everyone from in and around Three Creeks had gone, whether or not they were formally invited, and he had certainly been invited.
She sank her hands to the bottom of the sink, feeling under the bubbles for any last breakfast dishes, then pulled the plug, wrung out the dishcloth and spread it over the rim of the sink to dry.
“Mom? I’m going to run into town to check on Daniel.”
Julia sat at the kitchen table behind a stack of cookbooks, shoulders bent, graying hair twisted into a tidy roll just above her neck. She pressed one finger under the line she’d been reading and looked up, not quite at Emily, but beside her. “On Daniel?”
“In case he’s fallen or something.”
“Not him.”
Emily wasn’t sure if that was an expression of confidence or disappointment. She had never been able to figure out what her mother and Daniel thought of each other. “He’s immune to trouble, is he?”
Julia had already gone back to her book. She rarely cooked, but she liked reading recipes.
“I’ll drop in on Grandma, too. See how she’s doing after all the excitement. I won’t be long.”
This time her mother gave an absent nod.
As soon as Emily took her keys and purse from the hutch cupboard, the cat appeared from under the table, nearly tripping her on her way to the door. It was a stray that had adopted them that spring, establishing itself first on their driveway, then their front step and, finally, at their feet, wherever their feet happened to be. So far they hadn’t given it a name. It faced a tough decision when she opened the door, but decided to stay with Julia.
Emily stepped outside. Right away, perspiration prickled on her forehead. It was a still, quiet day, the heat too much even for the squirrels and goldfinches she usually heard. There had to be a hundred trees in the yard, with millions of leaves, but not one rustled. Not until Hamish emerged from under the caragana hedge. He stretched one leg behind him, then the other, and his tail gave a token wave.
“Good morning, old man.” She bent to stroke the border collie’s white-streaked face. “Don’t worry, in a few months it will snow. Won’t it be nice to have the cold to complain about?”
She emptied stale water and drowned flies from his dish and refilled it. “There. All set. You’re in charge, Hamish.” His tail wagged harder.
DANIEL LIVED on the north edge of Three Creeks, a few miles from Emily and Julia’s farm. His house stood on the last of five elm-lined streets that branched off the town’s main road and ended one block later in a field of mixed clover. It wasn’t his family’s original property. That was long gone, the trees and yard bulldozed when the provincial highway first went through and the house torn down years later, when it was widened.
The Rutherfords had moved away then, scattering across the country. Daniel had spent most of his adulthood moving from place to place, first in the Army and then the RCMP. No one had expected him to come back, but one day a sign had appeared on the community bulletin board—Daniel Rutherford: Security Consultant—and there he was, home for good.
All of that had happened before Emily was born. It was one of the stories she heard whenever her relatives were in the mood for reminiscing. As far as she was concerned, Daniel had always been in Three Creeks, as much a part of her world as her grandparents and her aunts and uncles.
She pulled up outside his house, a cozy story and a half—cozy except for the security bars on the basement windows. The driveway was empty.
He didn’t usually park in the garage, but she decided to check. Protecting his car’s finish from the sun wasn’t an issue. He’d been driving the same sky blue ’77 Cutlass for as long as she’d known him and it had done all the fading it was going to do.
The doors were locked. She leaned close to the window and shielded her eyes so she could make out the shapes inside. No car and, as far as she could see, no Daniel.
“I’m surprised you’re out and about today, Emily.” The soft voice startled her. An older woman wearing long sleeves and a wide-brimmed straw hat had come out of the neighboring house. “Don’t you need a bit of slothful time?”
“I slept until nine, Mrs. Bowen. How much more slothful could I get?”
“A hammock comes to mind. How is your dear mother this morning?”
“Craving solitude.”
Mrs. Bowen gave an understanding smile. “What a lovely day it was yesterday. Perfect for a wedding. It did my heart good to see you and Liz and Susannah together again.”
“Mine, too.” Emily’s
