Miss Emmaline And The Archangel Part 8

Gage sighed. "I'm sorry," he said harshly. "I apologize. That should never have happened. It won't happen again. You don't have the experience to handle a man like me, and I d.a.m.n well know it. I took advantage of you."

That wasn't entirely true, and Emma knew it. She might be utterly lacking in experience, but what had happened between them had happened with her complete cooperation. She couldn't understand why he was shouldering the whole blame himself.

Slowly she raised her green eyes and met him look for look. "There's enough blame to go around," she said stubbornly.

Her remark surprised him. He stared at her a moment, and then a slow smile creased his cheeks. "Guess so, Miss Emma. But right now you look good enough to eat, and I'm feeling like h.e.l.l's own archangel on a weekend pa.s.s. Maybe you better freshen up while I make you a quick sandwich so you can get back to work."

Good enough to eat! My word, Emma thought as she hurried back to her bedroom. My word!

A look in the mirror brought her embarra.s.sed blush back full strength, though. Her hair was tousled and wild around her face, and her blouse was wrinkled beyond hope. She would have to change. Well, that was all right. It would make a good excuse for her tardiness in returning to work. She could tell Linda she had spilled something on herself. Good enough to eat. My word!

And what had he meant, a man like him?

It was snowing again, lightly, when Emma locked up the library for the day. She glanced out the tall, mullioned windows as she switched off the lights and saw the familiar sparkle of falling flakes. Downstairs, when she stepped out into the back parking lot, she found that nearly an inch of fresh powder had acc.u.mulated. A nearby streetlight turned some of the falling flakes into whirling glitter.

For a long moment Emma just stood there, watching the snow fall, reaching into herself for some of the Christmas spirit she seemed to be sadly lacking this year. Trying not to remember that she had to go home and that Gage would be waiting. How was she ever to face him again? How did two people ever look one another in the eye when they had actually ... gone all the way? The question was undoubtedly indicative of her naivete.

Sighing, she drew up the collar of her coat and took the plunge she always dreaded, the step into the dark, empty parking lot.

The instant she moved away from the building, the back of her neck began to p.r.i.c.kle. It always did. She always had the uneasy, uncomfortable feeling that someone was about to seize her from behind. Unconsciously, she quickened her step.

It had been terrible today, she thought. The library had felt like a huge, echoing cavern, especially after Linda had departed at three, leaving Emma by herself. Even Mr. Craig, an elderly gentleman who spent most of his days in the reading room, had abandoned her, saying he had things to do for Christmas. She should be used to this by now, she told herself. December was her quietest month. Except for the children's story hour, which was always especially well attended at this time of year, she could have closed up shop entirely. People had no time for reading just now.

Except for Emma herself. She had scads of time for reading. And she might well have lost herself in the latest horror novel if her life hadn't begun to feel as if she were caught in one. Perhaps she needed to speak with Dr. MacArdle or Dr. Randall. Maybe one of them could rea.s.sure her about the feeling of pressure that kept growing in her mind. Maybe they could explain the flashes of glittering gold she kept glimpsing from the corners of her eyes, the voices that sounded like distant mumbling on a poorly tuned radio.

She was beginning to feel as if she was haunted, and the feeling quickened her steps even more. Glancing over her shoulder, she scanned the lot hastily, making sure she was still alone. The snow would have to be wiped from the winds.h.i.+eld. She hated that. It made her feel so exposed to the night, to anyone who might come upon her.

It had been snowing just like this the night she was attacked. She had been walking down the street toward her dorm, hurrying because of the way the wind cut- When had she remembered that?

Emma froze in place, blinking into the dark and the swirling snowflakes, cast back in time to a night she hadn't been able to remember since it happened. The memory was there as if it had never been gone. Vivid. Cold. Not yet terrifying, except that now she knew that the most terrifying events of her life had been about to happen.

Oh, G.o.d, what if she remembered the rest of it? She didn't want to ... didn't want to, didn't want to didn't want to didn't want- "Miss Emma?"

Whirling, she saw a man emerge from the shadows and the falling snow.

"Emma?"

Gage. It was Gage. He drew closer, and she could see the white flakes on his shoulders, on his black Stetson. Closer yet he came, and she could see his scarred cheek and the dark pools of his eyes beneath the shadowing brim of his hat.

"Emma?"

She closed the last two steps between them as if he was the only shelter from the Furies. All her embarra.s.sment was forgotten. Gage promised protection. How she knew that, she couldn't have said. She just knew that she could count on him.

"What's wrong?" he asked as she flew to him. There was no hesitation in the way he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close, no reluctance in the way he bent his head to look down at her. "Emma?" And then, as if he understood, he pressed her head to his shoulder and held her snugly. "Shh ... shh ... shh."

"I remembered. I remembered. Gage, I don't want to remember any more. I don't want to remember what happened. I don't! I don't, I don't, I don't..."

"Shh ... hush, baby. Hush. Let's get you home. We'll get you warmed up and get you a shot of brandy, and then you can tell me what's happening. Come on, honey. Come on..."

Little by little, he urged her toward her car, and finally he got her in the pa.s.senger seat, the seat belt buckled around her. With a couple sweeps of his arm, he wiped the fresh snow from the winds.h.i.+eld.

When he came around to the driver's side and started to slide in behind the wheel, she screamed. "No!"

He froze, half in and half out of the car. "Emma?" d.a.m.n it, he'd forgotten that she couldn't stand to be in a car with a man. Now how the h.e.l.l were they going to deal with this? He didn't think she was in any way fit to drive at this moment. She was, unless he missed his guess, very near hysteria.

He backed out of the car and squatted, looking in at her as she pressed back against the car door and watched him warily.

"Emma, you know I won't hurt you. Not intentionally."

"I ... know," she whispered. "I know. But when you ... I just ... something happens, Gage! I don't know why."

"Well, then, I'll just walk back."

"No!"

He sighed and pushed his hat back on his head. "Emma, I don't think this is the time or place for a course of desensitization therapy. It's cold out here, and the longer we hold still, the more we'll feel it. I'll just walk back to the house."

He started to straighten, but Emma called his name. Slowly, ignoring the protest of his back and leg, he squatted again.

"I think ... I think I can control it for the length of time it'll take us to get back to the house."

"You screamed the last time I tried to get into this car. If you don't mind, I'd rather not have to explain to half of the Conard County Sheriff's Department that I wasn't trying to a.s.sault you."

Emma blinked rapidly, battling an urge to weep. "Gage, please!"

"Aw, h.e.l.l." He sighed and wondered if he would ever in his life learn to resist the plea of a sad or frightened woman. "Okay. I'll try to get in once more, but, Emma, if you can't handle it, that's it. I'll walk."

"I can handle it," she said raggedly, already growing tense at just the prospect. "I can handle it."

To Gage it sounded as if she was trying to convince herself more than him. He waited a moment, then straightened and once again attempted to slide into the car.

Her tension was enough to make the air crackle, he thought as he settled onto the seat. She gulped air as if she had just run a marathon, she hugged the car door as if she might slip far enough away to feel safe, and her hands were knotted into white-knuckled fists. Wonderful. It sure made a man feel good to make a woman feel like that. Sort of like Attila the Hun, or Bluebeard.

Before he closed the door, he accepted the keys from Emma's trembling hand and started the engine. He looked at Emma once more. "All right?"

She gave a short, jerky nod. Gage reached out and closed the door. Only Emma's sharply drawn breath testified to her increased tension when she was closed up with him. Releasing the brake, Gage edged them out of the lot, taking care on the slick, fresh snow.

Emma spoke breathlessly. "However did you manage to be right there when I needed you?" As soon as the words were out, she wished she could s.n.a.t.c.h them back. They placed unnecessary significance on Gage's appearance in the parking lot and revealed too much of how relieved she had been to see him.

"I walk a lot," he said. "It distracts me."

From his pain, Emma thought, and tried to loosen her grip on the door handle.

"I saw the lights at the library go out, and I came around the rear to make sure you reached your car safely," Gage continued. "I'm glad I did."

Emma was, too. She wondered how much longer she was going to be able to endure the impossible tension that gripped her from being closed in the car with a man like this, and thought that she could endure it at all only because it was Gage.

"Almost there, Em," Gage said a few moments later.

"This is humiliating!" The words burst from her as she battled back yet another impulse to fling the door open and jump out.

"Why humiliating? You can't help it."

"But it's such a small thing, and it's so stupid!" She drew a deep, shaky breath, battling to appear in control of herself when everything inside her was shrieking at her to run. "I hate to be stupid."

"I don't think you're being stupid at all."

Stupid or not, the minute he pulled the car to a halt beside his Suburban at the rear of the house, Emma bolted. She couldn't stand another minute in the car, not another ten seconds, and she scrambled out as if the demons of h.e.l.l were after her. Then, utterly embarra.s.sed, she hurried into the house with every intention of hiding in her bedroom, away from this disturbing man who had seen parts of her soul that had never before been exposed to anyone.

But Gage caught up with her halfway across the kitchen and swung her around, catching her to him and holding her as she struggled.

"Stop it, Emma. Stop it," he said sharply. "We have to talk, and you d.a.m.n well know it. If you're remembering, I need to know what might be coming so I can help."

"Help? What kind of help...?" She pushed at him, trying to get away.

"What if you remember in the dead of night, Emma? Who's going to be there for you if you remember what that man did?"

She froze, and then slowly, unhappily, lifted her wide, frightened green eyes to his. "I don't want to remember, Gage. I don't!"

"How are you going to prevent it, Emma?"

She shuddered. "I don't know."

"You can't prevent it. You can't. It'll happen. You're sitting on a time bomb, and if you've started remembering any of it, then the fuse is a short one."

She turned from him slowly, and he let go of her.

"I'm going to change," she said tonelessly. "I need to make dinner."

d.a.m.n, Gage thought. He never would have pegged her for an ostrich. Did she really think that if she pretended it didn't exist, it would just go away? The lady was riding for one h.e.l.l of a fall. One h.e.l.l of a fall.

At the kitchen door she turned to look at him. "Who was there for you, when you remembered?"

When he didn't answer, she turned away and left him alone in the echoing silence of the kitchen.

Chapter 6.

Gage, too, had experienced traumatic amnesia, though probably not for as long or to as great a degree as she had, Emma thought as she changed into her jeans with shaky hands. How else could he be so sure that she was about to remember all of it? How else could he be so sure that she was going to need someone when it broke? How else could he believe that she had really forgotten what had happened to her?

In retrospect, she realized how odd it was that he never questioned or doubted her when she had told him she couldn't remember. On the several occasions years ago, when she had tried to discuss it with a few college friends, she had met first with disbelief and then with all kinds of questions about what it felt like not to remember.

Gage hadn't questioned her, which meant he knew, and the fact that he knew meant he was probably right that she was verging on complete recovery of her memory. Oh, Lord!

She found Gage in the kitchen, reheating the soup she had made last night and slicing a loaf of bakery bread.

"Sit," he said quietly. "I'm taking care of dinner."

They ate in silence, neither one of them too terribly hungry, and then Gage poured them both mugs of coffee. When he settled into the chair facing her, pain flashed across his face, twisting his once-handsome features. Emma resisted an urge to reach out to him. The last time she had reached out, she'd wound up rolling around on her living room rug in a very improper fas.h.i.+on. There was, however, a burning question she couldn't smother.

"What did you forget?" she asked him.

Gage's head jerked, almost as if she had slapped him. A long, tense moment pa.s.sed before he looked at her. "Sounds. I forgot the sounds. I never did see-" He cut himself off and looked away. He dragged in a deep breath before he continued. "I a.s.sumed-everyone a.s.sumed-that I'd been immediately knocked unconscious by the blast. When I started to remember ... I thought I was losing my mind." There was never a chance. Never.

"Sounds? You mean the explosion?"

His gray-green eyes suddenly bored into her. "Screams. I mean the screams."

Emma's hand flew to her mouth, and she suddenly felt as if she would be sick.

She should never have asked. She should never have disturbed this man's ghosts.

Gage sighed and looked down at his mug. Let it go, he told himself. Just let it go.

"What were you before you came here?"

He looked up again, tempted to tell her to drop it. He didn't want to discuss his past. His past was a closed book as far as he was concerned, and the more tightly closed he kept it, the better. When he walked the streets and traveled the roads of Conard County, people might stare at his disfigured face and wonder, but they didn't look at him with pity. They didn't whisper about him, because he gave them nothing to whisper about. He was as anonymous as a man could be when he stayed in one place.

But he was going to ask this woman to tell him things n.o.body in the county knew about her. As far as he had been able to determine, n.o.body in Conard County- with the possible exception of Nate Tate, who wouldn't betray a secret even at gunpoint-had any idea that Emmaline Conard had anything darker in her past than the a.s.sumed traveling man.

He needed to know more than she had already told him, though, because if her memory returned, somebody in this d.a.m.n county would need to know what was happening. Somebody was going to have to hold her and listen to her and rea.s.sure her, and the lot would probably fall to him simply because he was sharing her roof.

Besides, he thought with grim resignation, she was going to need someone who would understand what was happening, and he was probably the only person around here who could.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I worked for the Drug Enforcement Administration. DEA. I operated undercover in several major cities against drug kingpins."

"And one of them tried to kill you with a bomb?"

Such a simple, bald statement, he found himself thinking. It couldn't begin to convey what had actually happened. "Yeah."

"But if you were undercover-"

"My cover was blown. It happens." G.o.d, he wanted to get away from this now, before they edged any closer to the abyss of pain that was always just a single misstep away. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone what I've just told you."

Emma nodded. "You have my word. I suppose you still have enemies?"

"A few." He would let her think that was the reason he wanted his secrets kept. Personally, he didn't care a bucket of hog swill if one of those guys came looking for him. It would be a swift way out of h.e.l.l.

Except that h.e.l.l didn't feel quite so empty and quite so cold with Emmaline Conard sitting across the table from him, her tightly bound hair like a candle flame in the dark. "Let your hair down, Emma."

She blinked. "I don't think that would be wise."