Heartland (20 page)

In the parking lot, EJ pulled his Silverado into the space closest to the service entrance of the three-story medical building. When he left the engine running as he peered out of the windshield, she got the impression he was looking for more than paparazzi with long range cameras.

He turned the ignition off and glanced at her. “You haven’t been here before?”

She shook her head and folded her cold hands in her lap. “No. I should’ve had a checkup two weeks ago, but Dr. Holt couldn’t get me in sooner than today.” She reached for the door handle. “I better go. I might be a little while. The doctor wants to do a sonogram since I’m a new patient.”

He looked out the window again. “I’m coming with you.”

The prospect of him being with her during the exam thrilled her, but she didn’t want him there if he did it out of some sort of protector obligation. “You don’t have to do that. I think I’m safe here.”

He faced her. “That’s not why I want to go. I want to be there. I mean--” Rubbing his chin, he let his gaze slip from hers. “Raquel wouldn’t let me go with her to the doctor when she was pregnant with Austin. Her mother went with her. Hell, I’m not sure either one of them wanted me in the delivery room with her when he was born.” He shook his head as if getting rid of the bitterness, then let out a breath. Her heart sputtered over a beat when he looked at her again with eyes full of tenderness. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but I feel more connected to your baby than I did my own son at the same stage of his development.” She opened her mouth to remind him they couldn’t have more than friendship, despite their sexual escapades, but he held up a hand to stop her before she even got a word out. “Don’t tell me we can’t explore how far this--this thing between us can go. I know your reasons for holding back, and I don’t agree with you.”

He opened the door and got out, leaving her staring after him with her mind rolling at the meaning under his words. She startled when her door opened, and she turned to him. He held out his hand and gave her a devilish one-sided grin. “C’mon, I don’t want you to be late. Besides, no one knows who the hell I am. Let the office staff speculate what I am to you.”

She shifted her sunglasses farther up her nose and took his hand, letting him help her out of the truck. “What should I call you since your name was mentioned on the broadcast, Sheriff
EJ
Cowley?”she asked, stressing his nickname. With a grin, she stepped through the metal door he held open. A big black and white sign clearly marked it as an employee entrance. “Edward or Eddie?”

He stepped into the hallway with a scowl. “Neither. How about James or Jim. I can tolerate my middle name better than my first.”

She laughed as they headed down the short hallway on the right to an elevator. He pushed the UP button, and she removed her glasses. “Why do you disliking your first name? Aren’t you named for your grandfathers?”

Nodding in answer to her last question, he shrugged and looked a bit sheepish. “My eldest sister Becky gave me the nickname EJ when I was a baby and it stuck, but the reason for my profound dislike of Edward is a little more recent.” He then looked at her and glared as if she had something to do with it. “Do you remember those vampire books and later movies--
Twilight
--I think was the title of one of them or maybe the whole series?”

“I loved that series of books as a kid. Every one of my girl friends either loved Jacob or…” Dawning came to her as the elevator pinged open and she laughed. “Oh, I get it.” She batted her lashes at him. “
Edward
. He was my favorite,” she said, perfecting a dreamy tone to irritate him further. “You know you actually look a bit like--not Rob Pattinson--but what I thought Edward might look like.”

“You and every damned girl in school who read those books. I was in high school when they first came out.” He narrowed his eyes. “Well, I’m not a damned sparkling vampire.”

“No.” She contained her giggles and took his hand as the door slid open at their floor. “Thank, God, you’re a pain in the ass cowboy instead.”

* * * *

Tired of being cooped up in the house and of thinking about Mike Ritter, Emily took a tablet, pen, and her guitar out to the porch. In a shady corner near the kitchen door, she sat in a wicker rocker and let her fingers play over the strings. Finding sound soothing to her nerves, she did it again, and let her instincts take over. The melody and lyrics flowed from her like a river, and as she repeated the chords and words, she jotted them on the music paper.

“Nice tune, though it’s a bit too slow for my taste.”

At the sound of the rough British voice, she jerked her head up to find her ex-husband leaning against a porch post as casually as if he belonged there. The barn and pasture framed his all-black attire and long jet hair. He lifted the cigarette he held between two long fingers, the black nail polish catching and absorbing the afternoon sunlight limning him in a weird sort of halo like some dark angel--or demon, more like it. The warm breeze wafted his exhaled smoke in her direction, causing her eyes to water and her belly take a flop. She’d always hated his stinking cigarettes.

Propping her guitar against the small table holding her tablet, she stood and squared her shoulders. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Her heart pounded as a slew of other questions bombarded her. How had he gotten this close to her? Where was EJ or Oliver and Jason? What if this had been Mike? She’d be dead. With a painful thud of her heart, she took a step back.

With a careless shrug, Fabian took another lazy puff on the cigarette. “I saw the interview the other night. I’m in Texas on tour with the band. Thought I’d drop in to see how you’re doing. I noticed you have your bodyguards here--Oliver stopped me in the drive--and you’re living with the sheriff?” His grin did nothing to hide the sarcasm. “How convenient for your safety from your deranged stepfather.”

She fisted her hands, to keep them from shaking as much from anger as gut freezing fear. “Then you should see I’m fine.”

After studying her for a moment, he snorted. “Bloody hell, you are.”

She didn’t miss the wrinkle of his long, aristocratic nose in disgust when he scanned the landscape and flicked ash into the shrubbery. For a foreigner who made his fortune in America, he didn’t have much appreciation for anything outside New York City or LA. Not for the first time she wondered what the hell she’d seen in him.

“You never took stress well, and now that you’re
rehabilitated
”--he matched the derisive tone on the last word with the same look that he’d given the countryside--“I’m sure you’re having an even harder time of it.”

Glaring at him, she tightened the grip she had on her fists. “You think I need drugs to get through this?”

“Don’t you?” He took two steps toward her as he reached into a pocket of his jeans. His blue eyes softened as he touched her face with his other hand. She jerked away, and he smiled. “Come on, you know you miss me, red. You and I have something special.”

When he feathered his fingers over her cheek again, she moved back, but with the furniture on one side and the porch railing on the other, she was effectively cornered.

“Something special? If you call getting high and fucking like animals special.” Her voice came out as a high pitched squeak, and didn’t sound anywhere near as disgusted as she wanted it to.

He shrugged and smiled. “You can’t deny we had fun.”

No, she couldn’t, but it wasn’t real, and after feeling bone deep love for a man, she never wanted anything else. Opening her mouth to tell him to go to hell, the words died on her tongue like dew in the hot wind. She gazed at the packet of white powder and licked her dry lips.

Sweet, much-needed oblivion.

“Take it.” Fabian’s low voice coaxed as if she were a beaten down dog. “You need it and there’s not much here, but it should be enough to get you through this mess.” He took another drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke on the side of his mouth. “You could always come with me. The crazy bastard gunning for you won’t find you.”

When the arid stench drifted into her face, she didn’t do more than blink. Feeling like Biblical Eve, she focused on the apple the demonic serpent dangled in front of her.

“Damn, you looked like shit on TV,” the devil said.

“I’m pregnant.”

He shrugged and looked her over. “You don’t look it.”

“But I am.” The black and white image of the sonogram of her healthy, flourishing baby came to mind. Her new doctor had been pleased with her progress and moved her due date up three days to the sixth of October. “Aren’t you afraid this will hurt the baby?” She wasn’t sure who she was speaking to. Coke would harm her child, and she curled her left arm protectively around the mound of her baby girl. As if further reminding her mother of her existence the baby kicked hard enough to hurt, but Emily couldn’t focus on anything other than the packet lying on his lily-white palm.

Again, he shrugged with an aloofness which struck Emily as painfully as an arctic ice storm. “This little bit won’t hurt a thing. There’s not more than a few lines here.” He ran a hand through his long black hair. “Look, I don’t know if what I feel for you is love. Hell, I don’t know if I even believe in it. But I hate seeing you look this damned scared.”

“I am scared.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. Her biggest fear lay in his hand. If she took what he offered, Mike would be the least of her worries. “I can’t risk getting addicted again.”

He scoffed in a loud disgusted noise. “I don’t believe in that shit. A little coke won’t hurt you.”

This had always been his philosophy, and as fucked up as it was, she’d believed it too for a long time. She stared at the white packet lying in his palm. As if her arm wasn’t connected to her brain, she lifted her hand and her fingers curled around the baggy of white powder.

* * * *

With the recent frustrating conversation with the FBI weighing heavy on his thoughts, EJ entered the kitchen, needing a cup of coffee. No one had seen Mike Ritter. How could a man, in these days of surveillance cameras at nearly every intersection of every two-bit town, disappear? Even McAllister had two such cameras at both of its traffic lights. The coffee finished, he added some milk and took a sip the strong brew.

At the thought of Mike, he moved toward the door onto the porch where Emily had taken her guitar. He didn’t want to check up on her, he wanted to spend every second of every day with her. The implications made his heart leap. He’d never loved any woman as much as he did her, but fear of her rejection kept his mouth shut on the matter.

He heard the muffled voices from the porch when he opened the door. His stomach lurched with icy fear. Setting his coffee mug on the counter with a thump, he reached behind him with his other hand for the Glock he’d taken to wearing tucked into his belt. Had Mike shown up on his doorstep?

“That’s right, love. After a little of this, you’ll feel a whole lot better.” At the British accent, a knife of jealousy stabbed through him, replacing some of the fear. Although EJ had never listened to the rocker’s music, he knew exactly who the man was.

What the hell was Fabian McPhee doing on his porch?

“Please leave.” Emily’s strangled voice made her sound as if she’d been whipped.

EJ shifted to the side, which allowed him to see the figures and his heart clenched. McPhee leaned down and kissed Emily, and EJ’s gut clenched when she didn’t push him away or slap him. Was she kissing him back? The possibility sent a red hot brand through his heart. When McPhee stepped away, he spoke in a rough voice. “Call me if you need more.”

EJ stepped into the shadows of the kitchen as the Brit turned to head off the porch. What would she do with the drugs? Hell, what would he do about them? As crazy as it sounded maybe arresting her for possession would be the best way to keep her and the baby safe.

He looked out at her. Emily faced the pasture, her profile pale and drawn.

Could he do that to her? Destroy her record and subject her to a trial in which she’d no doubt be convicted, destroying her career and taking her baby from her? No, he wouldn’t, despite her feelings toward him. Maybe she’d give him the drugs, and he could destroy them. Should he ask her about them? With a shake of his head in answer to the question as much as to clear it from the sudden fog, he opened the door, then stepped out into the heat of the porch.

She turned suddenly as the flash of fear crossing her face disappeared, and he wondered if he’d imagined it. “I had a visitor.”

“Oh.” He stiffened his back and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets to keep them from shaking the confession from her. “Who?”

As she glanced out over the pasture where his twenty head of black Angus grazed, she said, “Fabian.”

He fought to keep his voice steady. “What did he want?”

She shrugged and hugged her arms tightly around her body as if she were cold, in spite of the ninety-degree temperature reading for the day. He didn’t see any sign of the small packet of cocaine. “To make sure I’m okay.” Before he had a chance to speak, she picked up her guitar and brushed past him. “Please excuse me. I need to lie down. I’m not feeling well.”

EJ turned to watch her hurry into the house and stared at the dark rectangle of the screen door for a long time. She never told him about the drugs, which meant one thing.