Written on Her Heart (8 page)

The silhouette of a dog interrupted her view of the lake. The dog looked at her before collapsing onto the ground inches away. Emma tipped over, eyes wide, desperate for more light, more air, less company. She rubbed her chest, begging the discomfort to subside before the man arrived and expected her to speak.

“Mavis,” he scolded.

Awoo
, the dog complained, not bothering to lift its head.

“You have to stay in the boat. How am I supposed to catch anything if you keep jumping into the water? Mack’s ticked. You dumped his stringer over with you.”

The words stopped abruptly. She smashed her eyes shut.

“Emma?”

One eye popped open. She didn’t want to know who’d found her, but she also didn’t want him to think she was dead or drunk or who knows what else. The eye stretched wide when his face registered. “Nicholas?”

“You remember my name?” His eyebrows lifted and so did one cheek. He crouched beside her and rolled back on his heels. Two big hands hung loosely between them.

“Sure.”

His smile bothered her. Normally he scowled. The smile warmed her in places she didn’t approve of. She looked away.

“This is Mavis, my dog.”

The word drew out an added half a beat. His
dawg
. He extended a hand between them. She took it and righted herself.

“Hi, Mavis.” At the sound of her voice, the dog flopped onto its back and waited.

“Ham.” Nicholas barked a laugh. “She’s old and night blind.”

“Nice.”

“And she doesn’t like night fishing.” He laughed again and sat back beside her in the grass, linking his hands around his knees. “We were supposed to be in that boat.” He lifted a finger toward the dark lake. “That’s my buddy Mack leaving without us. What’re you doing sitting in the dark?”

“Waiting on the moon.”

“Sure. Sure.”

She laughed. Who knew he had a sense of humor? “You’re in a good mood, considering your dog jumped ship. Will Mack come back soon?”

“Yeah. He’ll be back.” He narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t exactly smiling when she took off, but I think she made up for it.” Nicholas reached out to rub the dog’s ribs. Mavis gurgled and snuffled, then rolled onto her belly in the grass to breathe.

Emma’s heart fluttered in her throat. Beside her Nicholas sat a full four inches taller, even hunkered around his knees. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and she leaned back on her palms to sneak a look at the man next to her. Scruff dusted his chin and throat. His eyes were deep set under thick black brows. Moonlight cast shadows of his lashes down both cheeks. She said a silent thank you he’d reached for her hand a moment earlier, before they dampened with nerves and sweat.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “We keep running into each other. Have you noticed?” This time his voice was lower. The jovial bounce had given way to something more serious.

“Yeah.” Her voice caught in her throat. She coughed into a fist to clear it. “Small town side effect.”

“It
ain’t
a bad one.”

No. It wasn’t. Since finding the journal, she felt braver. She spent more time around town in the sunlight this past week than she had in several months combined.

“So, where’ve you been hiding until now?” Nicholas shifted in the grass beside her and Emma stiffened.

“I’m not much of a people person.”

He turned at the waist to face her. “You sure picked a funny profession for that affliction. You photograph people, right?”

“Well, it pays the bills.” Tears pinched her eyes as a bubble of laughter filled her chest. He had her there. How could she explain five years of sadness-icing on twenty years of center-of-attention cake. She exhaled in search of the right words. “Okay. I like people just fine.” The eager look in his eyes confused her. Why did he care? Had he heard the rumors? “Lately, I prefer the quiet, that’s all.”

“I can be quiet.” The sincere tone of his voice turned her lips up in a smile and her face away from his. It’d been years since anyone flirted with her. Not that he was flirting. She peeked in his direction. A better question formed in her head. Was she flirting?

Nicholas sat stock-still, smiling at the lake. The picture of quiet.

Chapter Seven

When Mom pulled the door open, she nearly leapt into my arms. Tears already streamed from her eyes. It’d been two years since I’d been home, but not even secrets formed halfway around the world were safe from our small town. The moment I pulled my rental onto Route 22, I became fair game for gossip and ghost spotting. When a train lumbered along the only set of tracks and held me up for nearly five minutes, I watched a dozen bystanders take notice. First of the car they didn’t know, then they dipped their heads for a look at the driver. The lady in front of me yanked her mirror to the side to check her face, and her chin dropped when our eyes met. By the time I lifted Mama into my arms, she’d received no less than four phone calls announcing my arrival. So much for surprises.

She looked smaller and more fragile than I remembered. Maybe after two years in a battle zone everything did. Her thin palms gripped my cheeks tight, and she kept saying, “Welcome home,” until my eyes filled to match hers. Tears streamed over the skin on her cheeks, and I never wanted to leave. The most important thing I could protect was right there in my hands.

Emma sniffled and wiped tears as she finished the passage for the third time. Her tears dropped onto the ink. She flung her body backward onto her bed and exhaled. The imagery astounded her. She knew firsthand how it was to arrive home. Every car in town must be inventoried somewhere. She shook her head, picturing the train. How awful to be held back by something as mundane as a train when you’re coming home from war to see your mother.

A gush of air filled her lungs and she bolted upright.

“Oh my Lord in heaven, he’s from Honey Creek!” She looked around for someone to dance with. Grabbing the journal in one hand, she skimmed the words again though she’d practically memorized them already. Route 22. One set of tracks. His journal sat under her willow. “
Wheeeee
!” She scooped a pillow off her bed and spun until the floor tilted.

A rooster crowed on her nightstand, and she scoffed at the interruption of her moment. The rooster ring signaled an unknown number. She looked at her pillow and asked, “Telemarketer or a customer in need of a portrait?”

When the pillow didn’t answer, she tossed it.

“Emma Hastings.” She answered the phone, but her mind rolled through every man she knew who’d been to war. It was a short list. Aside from her relatives, Heather’s relatives and her high school friends, she had no idea who did or didn’t join the service.

“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number. I was looking for Tim McGraw. We have a date tonight.”

“James?” How’d he get her number again? Jumbled didn’t begin to describe her thoughts. Scrambled, maybe. The fact she wondered about the best adjective for her confusion said a lot. Dinner with James? Meh. Creeping around town trying to identify the man responsible for her heart’s bliss, that sounded like a winner.

“Are we still on for six o’clock?”

Emma’s eyes shot to the alarm clock. Five thirty. Good grief. No. “Sure. See you then.”

She tossed the phone back onto the nightstand and growled into the pillow. “Why’d you let me answer that?”

In the shower she dialed Heather, tossed the phone on the mat outside the curtain and yelled, “He’s from Honey Creek!”

“Who? Where are you? Is it raining?”

“My soldier.”

“The sun’s shining here. We have a bad connection. Let me call you back.”

“No!” Emma poked her head out of the curtain and tried not to drip on her phone. “My soldier’s from Honey Creek. Can you believe it? Who could it be? What if I know him? Oh my goodness I can’t think.”

“Woman, call me back in ten minutes when you’re dry and dressed.”

“I can’t.” She rinsed the last of the conditioner from her hair and lassoed a towel around her torso. She wrung her hair out in her fists and looped another towel over it. One quick twist and she grabbed the phone. “James is taking me out for pizza at six. We have to talk now.”

“Six? As in six o’clock on this day? You’re in trouble.”

“Crap. I’m moving as fast as I can. I forgot about it. So what do you think? Who could it be?” She yanked on a pair of black shorts and an emerald green blouse with no sleeves but a high collar. A dozen buttons lined up from belly button to collarbone. The back was open from the collar to the curve of her back. A measure of confidence came with the outfit. If she saw Clarissa tonight, she’d be better prepared for her attitude.

“I don’t have the first clue. Is this guy home on leave now and lost the book, or has he been home for a decade and he’s like 40 now?”

Yikes. She hadn’t considered his age. He might be in college and she’d be a creepy cougar. Or what if he was old. “He was in Iraq. How long have troops been there?”

“Like forever. Didn’t they go there once when we were in grade school? Desert Storm? Desert Shield? Lucy’s oldest brother went that time. He was 18. Lucy was six. That guy could be 38. That’s if he went at eighteen. Where do we start looking?”

“Doorbell. Work on it. I’ll call you after dinner.”

She shoved the phone in her pocket and ripped the towel off her head. No time to comb it. Emma twisted her wild mass of unruly redness until her face pulled tight, then anchored it with a giant clip and dashed toward the door.

“You’re right on time.”

He released a long low whistle as he took her in from head to toe. “You look amazing. That blouse really makes your eyes shine. I like your hair up too. Wow.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” James seemed nice enough, but she refused to invite him in without a background check. The town probably had a copy of that she could borrow. “Shall we?”

He slid her hand over his forearm as she pulled the door closed behind her. Her favorite black sandals sat on the porch right where she left them. “Just a second.” She toed on her shoes, and they were off for pizza. Even a very public date couldn’t ruin her mood after the incredible, promising, terrifying information she discovered thirty minutes before. Since then, everything changed.

****

The air inside Catch 22 smelled delectable. Standing at the counter waiting for a table had her salivating. She smiled at the bright red and white motif. Some of her best memories started there. Hoards of kids loaded out of booths wearing Fayette County High School letterman coats despite the summer heat. She remembered doing the same a lifetime ago. Those letters were the result of long hours and hard work. Once she got one, she wanted to make sure people knew.

“You’re smiling.” James smiled down at her, looking like he had something to do with it. “The food’s good here?”

“Scrumptious.”

“How’s this?” He walked toward a table where cheerleaders stood examining their bill and figuring out a proper tip. When Emma caught up with him, he turned to her for privacy. “Do you see all these winter coats?” He rolled his eyes.

The girls either missed the comment or rose above it.

“Congratulations on the state championship, ladies,” Emma crooned. How good they must feel. “I haven’t run into you guys to say so before, but I’m proud of you.” She wedged a hand beside her mouth in conspirator fashion. “My squad made a few trips to state too. We never brought home the title.” She winked, and the girls beamed.

“Thank you, Emma! Thanks, Miss Hastings!”