Refuge Cove (New Americana 2)

“Crazy how?” Emma asked, pleased that he was opening up to her.

He frowned, as if groping for words. “It’s mostly family, I guess. My mother’s life before she married Carl—my dad—has always been like this . . . this brick wall. She never talks about the family she grew up with. And she only mentions John because he’s how I got here. All she’s ever said about him was that he was a no-good drunk and an unfit father, and that’s why she got custody of me. Oh—and that he was an Indian. That’s why I’m so dark. I guess her family never liked Indians much. I knew who he was, but that’s about all.”

“So how’s that crazy?” She knew but she wanted to hear it from him.

“Just . . . you know. Finding out that my real father isn’t such a jerk after all. And finding out that I can choose not to be an alcoholic like he was. He taught me that. It’s been crazy, but it’s been good crazy. It’s helped me understand myself better.”

“He really loves you, you know,” Emma said. “All these years, he’s wanted to be in your life, but he’s stayed away because he didn’t want to stir up trouble with your family. You know that little bike that I have in the storage closet? It’s really yours. He bought it for your twelfth birthday, and then he wasn’t allowed to give it to you.” She looked him up and down. “I’d offer it to you now, but I think you’ve outgrown it.”

He grinned. “He must like you a lot, or he wouldn’t have let you take it. I get the feeling you like him, too. If there’s a chance you could end up being my stepmom, I want you to know that it’s cool with me.”

Emma felt the heat rise in her face. “Thanks,

but it’s way too soon to talk about that,” she said. “What about today? I thought you handled the surprise really well. Are you all right with that?”

“You mean with having a redneck grandma I don’t even remember? I could get used to that, I guess. She didn’t seem too bad. Not that my mom’s about to let me spend any time with her. And I guess I’ve got two uncles. I don’t know much about them.”

Emma wondered how much he’d heard after Pearl hustled him off to the kitchen. He might have been listening. But it wasn’t her place to tell him about Boone and Ezra, she decided. That should be left to Marlena.

“Hey, you two.” Pearl stood in the doorway to the dining room. “We’ve got customers coming in. Time to get back to work.”

Emma hurried back into the restaurant. David had stopped and was talking to Pearl. Emma was close enough to hear their conversation. “Aunt Pearl, there’s a big football game at school tomorrow afternoon. I’d really like to go with my friends. Would it be okay if I took tomorrow off? There’s a party after, but I don’t need to go. I could come in when the game’s over.”

Pearl looked displeased. “You really need to take this job more seriously, David. But all right, just this once. And don’t worry about coming in after the game. You can work extra hours on the weekend if you want the time. Now get busy!”

David went off to the kitchen. Emma grabbed a handful of menus, fixed her face in a welcoming smile, and hurried to the door to greet her customers.

* * *

The dinner hour was even busier than usual, with a private wedding party in the dining room. Emma, David, and an extra server hired for the night had worn themselves out running between the tables, the bar, and the kitchen.

By the time Marlena picked up David at ten o’clock, Emma was dead on her feet. The pistol in her pocket felt as heavy as a sledgehammer as she carted the last load of dishes to the kitchen, crossed the lobby, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. A hot soak in the tub and a night between clean sheets would be pure heaven.

She unlocked the door, and, as was her habit, drew her pistol and scanned the room before stepping over the threshold. What she saw made her gasp. There on the dresser, resplendent in a cut glass vase, was a lavish bouquet of two dozen red roses.

Her heart slammed. Such a romantic gesture didn’t seem typical of John, but the man was full of surprises. Emma checked the closet and the bathroom before locking the door. The scent of the flowers, almost dizzying in its sweetness, filled the room.

A small white envelope with her name on it was attached to the bouquet with a plastic clip. Heart pounding, Emma opened it and read the card inside—a single line.

Soon, my love.

Very romantic. Yes, the flowers could be from John, but how did they get into her room? She had to find out.

Locking her door, she hurried back downstairs to the lobby. “There are flowers in my room,” she said.

The girl, one of several who worked the late shift, smiled. “Yes, I know. Aren’t they lovely?”

“Were you here when they came? Can you tell me who delivered them?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “It was the woman who runs the flower shop. I know her. They came about six. Since you were working, and I was afraid they’d wilt, I took the liberty of putting them in a vase we had here and taking them up to your room. I hope that was okay.”

“Yes, it was fine. Thanks.” Emma went back upstairs to her room. The scent of roses washed over her as she stepped inside and locked the door. She picked up the card, which she’d tossed on the bed to go downstairs. The message on the card was hand-printed, probably by the florist, which meant they would have been ordered by phone or on-line—something John could have done, even from Sitka. And they were truly beautiful, every flower perfect. They must have been very expensive.

Soon, my love . . .

So why was she feeling troubled?

She was in love with John. The giddy, pulse-pounding magic she felt when she was with him was all too familiar. She recognized it because she’d felt the same sensations when she was with Boone, and he had all but destroyed her.