John hadn’t seen them in a while. Marlena looked good—her tawny hair beauty-parlor fresh, her nails manicured and painted black, her pricy jeans skin tight on her gym-toned body. Even Carl, who’d be into his fifties by now and was putting on weight, looked prosperous and happy.
And David. John’s jaw tightened against a pain that was almost physical. Lord, his son had become a man overnight. His still-gangly body had some filling out to do, but he was getting there. Soon he’d be full-grown, out of school, and on his own.
And John would have missed it all.
Marlena and Carl had been decent parents to the boy. But the fact that he’d been barred from sharing those precious, growing-up years would haunt John forever.
The name on his son’s new driver’s license would read David McKenzie. The boy had been using his stepfather’s name since he started school. Years ago, Marlena’s lawyer had approached John about allowing Carl to adopt him. John had refused. He was still David’s legal father. That, and blood, were the only ties he had left.
The three had turned away now. They were headed across the parking lot, toward Carl’s big, shiny Cadillac Escalade. John tore his gaze away as David climbed into the driver’s side and, grinning, took his place behind the wheel. It was too late to change the past, he reminded himself. And he had no power to change the present.
* * *
Getting a temporary licens
e had taken Emma a little over an hour. There’d been no long lines, but the counter had been short-staffed, with only one clerk. John was waiting when she came out. He started the Jeep without comment.
“Sorry it took me so long,” she said.
“It’s fine.”
“You’ve been awfully nice about waiting around for me,” she said, making conversation. “What did you do while I was at the judge’s this morning?”
“Not much.” He turned the Jeep back toward Front Street. “I had some coffee. Then I made a call to the state troopers to see if anybody had checked out the burned trailer. They said they’d flown over it in the chopper, but since there wasn’t enough open space to land, they’d have to send somebody in by road—when they could spare a team and a vehicle.”
“Which means they might not ever get around to it. This is so frustrating, John. If they’d only look, there’s no telling what kind of evidence they could find against Boone.” Emma leaned forward and slipped the new temporary license into the hip pocket of her jeans. “I asked the judge whether I might be in trouble for setting the trailer on fire.”
He pulled into the parking lot by the docks and stopped the Jeep. “I didn’t know you were worried about it. What did she say?”
“She said that would depend on whether I truly believed I was in danger.”
“You did, right?”
“Of course I did. You saw me. I was terrified. But she said that a sharp lawyer might argue that I was just a new bride who got cold feet about the wedding night—or maybe, when I discovered Boone had lied about his home, I was so angry that I set the place on fire to get even.” Her interlaced hands tightened in her lap. “I’m scared, John. I could be in as much trouble as Boone is.”
“I’m no legal expert, but it’s not too late to leave.”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong. It’s too late now. I need to wait for my credit cards and follow through in case Boone is actually caught. Besides, how would it look to the police if I ran away? They might think I had something to be afraid of.”
“Look at me, Emma.” He turned in the seat to face her. “You were lied to, robbed, and chased through the forest with dogs. You were wronged. You deserve justice. And I want you to know that, whatever happens, I’ve got your back.”
Whatever happens.
Emma blinked back a tear. She owed everything to this taciturn, solitary man who’d dropped out of the sky to rescue her. But could she believe him? Could she trust him not to walk away if her needs demanded too much of him?
She faked a smile. “I’ll try not to make you sorry you said that.”
“Don’t worry about it. See that building across the street, with the upstairs windows? That’s the Gateway. You’re going to see them about a room and a job. Should I wait here?”
“Would you mind coming with me? I could use the support.”
* * *
They walked across Front Street and into the vintage hotel. The reception area was small, with most of the ground floor space taken up by the restaurant through the door to the right. A narrow, walled stairway opposite the desk led to the upper floors.
John stayed back while the perky receptionist greeted Emma. “Oh, yes! Judge Falconi called and said you might be coming by. She said you’d lost everything in a robbery, and that you needed a room and a job.”
“Can you help me with either one?” Emma asked. “I’ve had plenty of waitress experience, or I’d be happy to clean, or paint, or anything else you might need.”