Chapter 3
Emma drove into town,skirting through the square where her dad’s office was located—and where Blaze Connolly lived in one of the apartments above the practice. She didn’t need to drive through the center of town to get to the historic district where her parents lived, but the closer she got to reaching the end of the journey, the tougher it was.
She’d stopped at the Gas-n-Go to give herself more time before she had to face her parents. Her mother would have cooked a big pot of soup or stew, but Emma had wanted pulled pork. She’d had a hankering. They didn’t have real barbecue in Chicago, at least not to her. Sure, there were people all over this country who worshipped at the altar of smoked meat these days, knew how to cook low and slow, and put their own spin on the food they made.
But there was nothing in this world like a little BBQ shack tucked away in a gas station on a rural Alabama road. She’d been craving it since she’d crossed into Tennessee earlier in the day.
Last thing she’d expected was to find herself in the center of a robbery. If Blaze Connolly hadn’t shown up, she didn’t know what would have happened. Maybe the robber would have succeeded in shooting them all before he took off with his bag of cash.
Emma slowed the car to a crawl as she drove past the Salty Dawg Tavern. Her bestie was part-owner these days. She and Aurora Harper had been best friends since they were in Sunday School together as three-year-olds. Maybe even earlier than that, come to think of it, but her first memory of Rory was when they were cast as shepherds in the Nativity play and Rory kept waving her shepherd’s crook around like it was a sword.
The adults had howled as the play went sideways. Rory kept waving, and Emma joined her. So did Rory’s brother, Theo, who was two years older and maybe should have known better.
These days, Theo owned the other half of the Dawg and ran it with Rory. They’d been close as kids and still were.
Emma’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She’d been a bad friend the past four years. She’d tried to keep in regular touch with Rory, but the ER had been hectic. Their daily calls and texts had dwindled to monthly texts by then. The rare occasions when they talked, Rory acted like everything was fine and she was happy they were connecting, but Emma still felt remorse for not being a bigger part of her friend’s life during those years.
They’d been texting again since Emma had decided to come home, and it was like they’d never stopped. Tomorrow, she’d go see Rory at the farmhouse she’d inherited from her grandparents. Theo lived over the tavern because he preferred it, and Rory had the house and worked on renovating it in her spare time.
Emma couldn’t wait to see it. But first she had to face her parents. Her heart squeezed with fresh guilt.
There was nothing bad about seeing any of the people she loved. It was her.
Her guilt for staying away while she worked on her career, for wanting to. Her shame for what had happened to her.
None of them knew about Simon.
When the relationship was new, she’d wanted to keep it to herself, not get her mother’s hopes up that she was going to get married and start producing grandchildren. Not until she knew if it was going somewhere first.
She hadn’t told them about him when things went wrong, either. Because she was ashamed. How could she tell them what had happened? That she wasn’t as smart as she’d thought she was, that she was actually a failure? That she’d let a man control her, abuse her?
“Stop putting it off,” she muttered as she circled the square, looking at the buildings and shops she’d known most of her life as if they were brand new and worthy of study.
She thought of Blaze Connolly leaping into the fray, disarming the robber, and preventing him from killing anyone. He hadn’t hesitated. He’d just acted.
Sometimes, that’s what you had to do. Rip off the bandage and get it over with.
Emma pointed the car west and left the square behind. The Sutton’s Creek historic district was filled with homes that’d been built pre- and post-Civil War, as well as homes from the early to mid-1900s. Designating the area a historic district had brought federal funding and tourist dollars to the town. It had also brought new residents who snapped up the homes when they went on the market. Emma figured these days Sutton’s Creek was about half longtime residents and half new folks who’d moved in to take jobs in the booming Huntsville job market.
Emma pulled into the driveway, shut off the car, and climbed out to stand on the cobblestones. The motion light over the back door had clicked on when she drove up, and the door opened to emit a furry bullet of a dog who barked her head off as she ran toward Emma.
“It’s me, Coco,” she said, dropping to her haunches. Coco, who was a toy poodle and not in the least bit scary, started to dance on her hind legs around Emma, waving her little front paws as she did so. It filled Emma with happiness to be greeted so enthusiastically. Coco had been a puppy when Emma went off to college, but the dog hadn’t forgotten, no matter how long it had been between visits.
“She’s happy you’re home. So are we.”
Emma scooped Coco up with one arm and stood. “Hi, Mama.”
Tears pricked her eyes at the sight of the woman standing on the back steps. Ellen Sutton’s blond hair was perfectly coifed and curled up at the ends where it hit her shoulders. A yellow headband perched artfully on her head, and her dress looked like something out of the 1950s. Mama loved shirt dresses and always looked fabulous in them. She didn’t look like a woman who’d had a heart attack and emergency bypass a year ago.
“Hi, baby. We were starting to wonder if you’d make it home tonight. Did you run into traffic?”
“Emma Grace.” John Sutton’s voice boomed as he emerged from the house with his arms wide. “You’re here.”
“Hi, Daddy.”
It felt good when she met her dad on the cobbles, and he wrapped his arms around her and Coco both. Coco squirmed happily, and Emma’s insides did the same.
She’d been running away from home for years, wanting more than small town life, but home was still here. Still waiting for her with open arms.
Her dad squeezed her, then let go and announced he’d get her suitcases while she went inside with her mother. Emma put Coco down and helped, mostly because she had all her belongings crammed in the car and she didn’t want him emptying the whole thing out.
Once inside, her mother asked if she was hungry. She had to admit she was. When she perched at the kitchen island with a bowl of chicken stew and a biscuit, she told her parents about the robbery.
“Oh my goodness,” her mother said, pressing her hand against her collarbone and the string of pearls she wore.
What Southerners called a pearl pressing moment, which was a little different from pearl clutching.
“Emma Grace, that’s awful! Is Clarence okay? And that poor little Britney. She’s just a kid! Who was it? Do you know? Probably someone who came over here from Decatur or Huntsville, thinking he could take the money and nobody would catch him.”
“I didn’t recognize him. Clarence fell pretty hard, but he should be fine. The ambulance was taking him to Huntsville for tests, and June was going to meet him there. Her neighbor was coming over to clean up the kitchen and put things away. Blaze and I cleaned up the mac cheese and put the food in the walk-in.”
Her dad looked stern. “I’m glad you had a man like Blaze there. He’s renting one of the apartments in the building.”
“He told me.”
“I’ve had nothing but a good impression of him and the men he works with. Former military, hard workers. They opened a training facility with a range and gun store on the old Jackson farm. Converted the warehouses out there, brought in some shipping containers for ammunition storage, and created an outdoor range too. It’s a top-notch facility.”
Emma didn’t like guns. She’d seen too much of what they did to human bodies in Chicago. And though she’d been terrified when the robber pointed the gun at her, it wasn’t the first time she’d been on the wrong end of a weapon. A shiver rolled through her. “Do we need another range around here? And what kind of training facility are they running?”
Her dad laughed. “You’d think not, but the closest one before One Shot Tactical opened was over on County Line Road in Madison. I think they’re doing courses for corporate groups. Security training, that kind of thing. They also offer self-defense classes.”
“I’m thinking of signing up for one,” her mother said primly.
Emma’s jaw dropped. She tried to picture her mother in her swingy skirts and heels with her pearls and headband, taking self-defense lessons. It did not compute. Not that she thought it was a bad idea, though. She didn’t personally approve of guns, but she approved of self-defense.
“It’s a good idea,” her dad said. “For everyone.”
Emma spooned up some stew. “If the rest of them know how to do what Blaze did today, then you’ll be well-equipped to protect yourself. He moved so fast I still don’t know what he did. But one second the guy was pointing the gun and the next he was on the floor and Blaze had it.”
Her dad blew out a steady breath. “I can’t tell you how glad I am he was there.”
“Me too.”
Her mother slid a look toward her dad before reaching across to grip Emma’s wrist.
“Honey, I know you just got here, but I want you to know that your father and I realize you don’t want to live with us, though you are more than welcome to. Nothing would make me happier than to have my baby girl home with me. But we’ve been talking about it, and we thought maybe you’d like to take the other apartment in the building. The previous tenant moved out last month, and we haven’t asked Phil to advertise it yet. We were waiting until the third-floor apartments were finished.”
“But if you don’t want to live above the practice,” her dad said, shooting a look at her mother, “we understand that too. It might be hard to feel like you’ve left work behind if you’re just upstairs.”
Emma’s gaze bounced between them. Her mother looked hopeful, and her dad frowned, though he didn’t look upset. “Are you trying to set me up with Blaze Connolly, Mother?”
Ellen pressed her pearls again. “What? Child, no. I just thought you’d want to be in your own place, near your friends, with Sutton’s Creek nightlife so close by. And when you mentioned Blaze again, I thought of it. That’s all. But you have to admit he’s very attractive.”
Her dad snorted.
“Not my type, Mama. Also, the nightlife in town consists of the Dawg, and that’s less than five minutes from where we’re standing right this second. But yes, I’ll take the apartment. For now.”
Her mother shot her dad a knowing smile. “I thought you might.”
Her dad shook his head as he reached over to pat her shoulder. “You know your mother thinks you work too hard and need to find a man, but I’m just fine if you want to stay single. Or maybe it’s another woman you’re looking for? Which is also fine with us, I should add.”
Emma’s face flamed. Lord, save her from meddling parents.
She was thirty-four years old, and they still acted like she was fifteen at times.
“I’m not looking for a man or a woman.” She forced a bright smile. “I’m going to have enough to do learning to run the clinic. I don’t need anything distracting me. Or anyone.”
“Well.” Her mother busied herself spooning more stew into Emma’s bowl, though Emma had barely put a dent in it. “If that’s the way you want it, sweetheart. I’m sure there are plenty of other men around if someone snaps up that handsome Mr. Connolly.”
“Five more of them at the range, Ellen.”
Emma didn’t miss the smirk on her dad’s face, or the wink he sent her way. At least one parent had her back.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind.”