Chapter 7
Emma slammedinto the side of the lectern with a bone-jarring thud, but luckily, her right shoulder took the brunt of the blow and not her head. Her stocking foot slipped against the slick floor, and she fell. Hands outstretched, she caught herself before she crashed face first onto the floor.
Moving on an instinct born from a childhood of abuse, she rolled to her back and crab-walked away, putting her attacker back in her line-of-sight while also putting distance between them—only to see Noah’s head snap back when Bishop rammed his fist into Noah’s nose.
“Noah!”
A memory from the past erupted into the present, of another man stepping in to defend her and his head snapping back.
Noah wasn’t shot, she told herself. Noah wasn’t shot. But he was hurt, and she needed to save him.
She scrambled to her feet and readied to rush to his defense, but like a prizefighter, Noah righted himself. Fast as a coiled snake capturing its prey, he struck out. With one brutal punch, he knocked Franklin Bishop to the ground, and the bailiff did the rest.
Threat neutralized, Noah rushed to Emma as she rushed to him. “Are you okay?” they asked in unison.
“I’m fine,” he said, a trickle of blood marring the skin beneath his left nostril. “What about you?”
The judge’s gavel exploded over the mayhem like gunfire.
Bang, bang, bang.
For a second time, the past clawed at her, and this time, it sank its claws into her and dragged her back in time. Darkness bathed a night steeped in terror. Her fear had been as palpable as the man with the gun, as real as her brother as he pushed her out of the way and took a bullet for her.
“Emma, Bomboncita.” Noah’s voice pitched so low that only she could hear. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m okay.” But her voice wobbled and cracked. “I just need to get out of here.”
In the clinic”s bathroom,where they’d gone for treatment and documentation of their injuries, Emma splashed cold water on her face. The past several hours had been a blur of police interviews, medical examinations, and evidence gathering. While Emma and Noah hadn’t been seriously injured, she’d insisted medical personnel document their injuries so that everything was on the record. With what happened in court, Whitlow Group had gained a considerable bargaining chip to use against Bishop.
Who knew, maybe word of Bishop’s attack would sour him in the media’s eyes and raise Whitlow Group’s standing once again. Or maybe the opposite would happen, and this would come back and make Whitlow Group look worse. Either way, Noah needed to get out in front of this ASAP, but she was confident his public relations machine was already trying to spin things to their benefit.
Despite the ibuprofen, her shoulder ached. When the doctor had said nothing was broken or torn, she’d rejected anything more substantial than over-the-counter meds. She hoped she wouldn’t regret that decision in a few hours. Bruises were blooming over her shoulder and deltoid. She’d hurt tomorrow, but she’d dealt with pain many times before. Sure, she hadn’t been hit in a long time, but pain was something you didn’t forget.
She dried her face before applying a fresh layer of her favorite mineral makeup. Reporters had gotten wind of their location, and at last count, half a dozen were camped in the parking lot. No telling how many there were by now. Emma was not looking forward to getting through them.
“You’ve got this,” she said to her reflection and, gathering her courage, stepped from the bathroom. “Andi, hey!”
Andi leaned against the wall opposite the bathroom, her arms crossed, her gaze watchful. She wore dark gray slacks and a blue polo-style shirt. A black bullet-proof vest covered her torso, and a handgun sat holstered at her right hip.
Emma hurried over for a hug. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Noah called for a security escort, and I insisted on taking point.” Of course, Andi would do that.
Emma held her friend tighter. “I’m so glad you’re here, and not just because you’re my escort. Andi, Noah stepped between Bishop and me, and when Bishop hit him, Noah’s head snapped back just like—”
“Shh.” This time, Andi gripped Emma tighter. “He’s not Preston.”
“I know. I keep telling myself that, but I felt as if I was right back there with Preston beside the moving truck.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. Andi, of all people, knew how much Preston’s shooting affected her. How many times had they spent sitting in the dark, both literally and figuratively, as Emma had tried to plot a new course forward without her big brother?
When Andi pulled back, she was all business again. “Noah wants to get out of here before the crowd outside gets any bigger. Right now, they’re not hostile, but when dealing with a group of unpredictable yahoos, it’s always better to be over-prepared than under.”
Emma followed Andi to the clinic’s waiting room, where Noah and a dozen other men and women stood. Aside from Noah, everyone wore a variation of Andi’s outfit. So all Whitlow Tower security, no doubt.
Noah met Emma at the door. “The crowd’s doubled. There are reporters camped out at Whitlow Tower, too, so new plan. We’re going straight to my estate, where there’s a security perimeter, and we’ll hang there until I know you’re safe.”
“Do you really think all that’s necessary?”
“I’m not taking chances with your safety. End of story.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not taking chances with you.”
The conviction in his voice carved his initials right into her heart.
Just breathe.
Emma sat beside Noah in the back of one of Whitlow Group’s corporate sedans. Her earlier shock and adrenaline were wearing off, and fear was trying to take root. Bishop might not have hit her in the purest sense, but his actions had been violent. He was the first person to commit violence against her since her father had gone to prison.
Bishop had hit Noah, though. Because he’d stepped between them, Noah had been hurt. He hadn’t been shot like Preston, but hurt was still hurt.
She took Noah’s hand and squeezed. He was okay. He was here. He was alive. He was okay.
Noah leaned close. “You’re shaking again.”
“I’m fine,” she lied, but instantly backtracked. “Okay, I’m not fine, but I will be. I just need to settle.”
“Understandable.” He wrapped an arm around her and drew her into him. “I need to settle, too, so if you’re game, I’d like to take you horseback riding. There’s this clearing where I like to go, nestled between the forest and a creek. The entire area is brimming with wildflowers, and I’d like to share the spot with you.”
“Sounds perfect, but...” She motioned at her suit. “I’m not exactly dressed for horseback riding.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.”
Swamped with emotions, she nodded.
He pulled out his cell and began a quick-clipped conversation in Spanish. He spoke about picnic supplies and clothes, but when the car made another turn, she stopped listening to the discussion.
A wrought-iron fence wrapped a sprawling estate in a safety barrier, and she leaned against the window to get a better view of the mansion and its land. The structure blended aspects of the Mexican countryside with old-American money. A multitude of windows, in varying shapes and sizes, along with exposed wooden beams gave the appeal of a Spanish villa. Flower beds sat everywhere, around the house, the drive, the walkway leading to the barn.
The driver eased to a stop at the gate. As he input a code into the keypad extending up from the earth, Emma noted a single word shaped into the metal archway: Sagrado. It was the Spanish word for sanctuary.
Talk about appropriate.
When they reached the driveway, she all but leaped from the vehicle. She had to see more! The sweet smell of flowers mingled with the musty aroma of earth and hit her like something from a dream. To the right, a barn pushed up to a white picket fence and the garden it encapsulated. No, not a garden. This was a floral oasis, and it called to her like a siren called to Greek sailors.
Clumsy in her heels, she hurried over the cobblestone walk leading to the bright blooms. The gate wasn’t locked, so she went right in. Stopping underneath an arching trellis of brilliantly violet clematis, she lifted her face to the sunlight and inhaled the beauty. Oh, how she wished she were more versed in the flowers around her. She recognized some peach Angel Trumpets, purple Wisteria, Morning Glory, and oh, honeysuckles! The yellow and white blooms grew along the back of the fence, between the garden proper and the pasture.
“Spectacular,” Noah said.
“No, magical. I don’t know how you can ever leave the grounds.”
“I wasn’t talking about the grounds, Bomboncita.” Fingertip to her chin, he lifted her to him as he leaned in for a quick kiss. “But I’m glad you like my home.”
“Like it? Noah, I love it.” She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his heart. “Don’t judge me if I pitch a tent here and never leave.”
When his arms banded around her, she closed her eyes and simply held on. If they stayed right here forever, in this perfect moment, that’d be just fine with her.
Pitch a tent here and never leave.
Noah couldn’t deny the thrill tickling his spine. It was way too soon to think about moving in together, and yet, here he was, rearranging things in his mind to picture what living with her would be like. And heaven help him, he liked what he saw.
What was wrong with him?
He hugged her tighter. Something primal had seized him in the courtroom. When Bishop had lashed out at her, a switch in Noah’s head flipped, and his only thoughts had revolved around her, of getting to her and making sure she was safe.
Today’s violence had given him the tiniest glimpse of the abuse she’d suffered as a child. The situation in court should have terrified her, and maybe it had. But the first thing she’d done after getting to her feet was go to him and make sure he was okay. Hurt and injured, she’d set her needs aside to check on him.
“Emma,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
When she did, he took her mouth in a hard, relentless kiss. He poured every confusing thing he felt for her into every tilt of his head, every slide of his tongue, every shifting caress. His need for her coalesced with affection, propelling their kiss higher and hotter until he had to force himself to pull back so that he didn’t end up taking her here and now.
“To be continued, Bomboncita.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Her voice was soft and a tad breathy, which pleased him. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one affected by what was blooming between them.
Twenty minutes later, she stood in the barn, wearing an old pair of his uncle Julio’s work jeans and a plaid button-down. She’d tied the bottom halves of the shirt at her waist in an adorable mockery of the top she’d worn when she’d first stepped into his office. She tucked the jeans into boots that swallowed her feet.
“I look ridiculous,” she said, but a smile curved her lips.
“No, Bomboncita, you look stunning.”
She eyed him, her left brow shooting up.
“Okay, maybe stunning was over-the-top,” he said, “but I still want to take a big, greedy bite of you.”
Her gaze dropped to the barn floor, and her arms wrapped around her middle. Inwardly, he sighed. She still had a way to go before the woman’s and the lawyer’s confidence were on the same level.
He held out a hand to her. At least, she didn’t hesitate to take it or to look around as if checking to see if he was offering it to someone else.
Baby steps.
“I want you to ride Rosa,” he said, motioning to the brown-and-white Quarter Horse who’d stuck her head into the corridor for attention. He ran his thumb over the white spot of fur between her eyes, and she bumped her nose against his shoulder. “She’s much gentler than Outlaw, so she’ll be a much better mount for your first ride.”
“Outlaw? I’m guessing he’s a bit of a wild one?”
“Not wild, more like willful. He and I are still getting to know each other, and we’re locked in a battle of wills.”
As he saddled Rosa, he gave Emma a basic primer on horse etiquette: how to use the reins, how to properly mount, how the feet should be positioned in the stirrups, et cetera.
Despite Emma’s instant rapport with Rosa, he kept a close eye on them as they rode. Emma delighted in every minor miracle they passed, like the two sparrows they disturbed and sent flying. In the rabbit that darted across the trail. In the hawk that circled lazily overhead. She seemed as at home here as she had in the courtroom.
He tried to imagine Bridget riding with him, or any of the women who’d come before her, but imagining them was all he could do, as he’d asked no other woman to accompany him on a ride. Like his home, his rides were for solitude and sanctuary, not romance.
Then came Emma.
“I hear water.” Reverence weaved through her words. “Is there a creek or something nearby?”
He nodded. “You’ll get to see it just over this hill.”
“Does it have a name?”
“Mamá always called it Bluebonnet Creek because of the flowers that grow along its bank. It starts in the hills just beyond my property’s edge and flows all the way to the ocean—or so the seven-year-old me used to believe.”
She tossed him a glorious smile. “You lived here as a kid, too?”
“Sorta. This entire area has been Whitlow land for nearly a century. My parents deeded the land south of the creek to me when I’d wanted to build my home.”
“Did you ever discover if the creek flowed all the way to the ocean?”
He shook his head. “I thought about finding out once, but then decided I didn’t want to know.”
“That way, it can forever be the ocean in your fantasies?”
“Exactly.”
She tossed him another glorious smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, all creeks, rivers, and streams eventually empty into the ocean. I mean, it may not get there directly, but the water will end up there. It’s part of the water cycle. Ocean water evaporates into the sky and becomes rain. The rainwater fills the rivers and lakes, and then, slowly, it finds its way back to the ocean.”
Man, he really loved her brain.
When they crested the hill, Noah tugged on his reins, and Outlaw’s hooves stilled. “Well, what do you think of Bluebonnet Creek?”
If her slack-jawed expression and wide eyes were any indication, she’d fallen as irrevocably in love with this spot as he had when Grandpa Whitlow had first brought him here.
Spring wildflowers created a rainbow of colors amongst the green that stretched from the trees on the right to the creek on the left.
“As a young boy, I loved those boulders over there.” He pointed to an area at his two o’clock, situated halfway between the tree line and the water. “I used to imagine cowboys or outlaws using the rocks for shelter so that they didn’t freeze.”
The spot fueled both a young boy’s imagination and a young man’s grief. He’d nearly lost his life there, trapped in the darkness that had haunted him since Amanda’s death. The beauty of the area and the joy it usually brought had turned against him that day. Surrounded by its charm and tranquility, he’d felt unworthy of such happiness. His grief had fed on those emotions, amplifying them until there’d been nothing but the void. Some days, he still felt degrees of that darkness, and it was never as stark and consuming as when he was happy.
As when he was with Emma.
“I need down,” she announced, repositioning her reins and preparing for dismount.
Noah beat her to the ground and rushed to her side in case she lost her balance, but she dismounted with the grace of someone who’d ridden all her life.
As she ran to the water, he tethered the horses in some shade near the creek so that they could rest, and when he turned back to Emma, she stood in the stream, her boots off and her pant legs rolled to mid-shin.
“Look, Noah. Tadpoles!” She exclaimed the last word with the same jubilation some women might shout, Diamonds! “Come into the water with me.”
After ditching his shoes and socks and rolling up his pant legs, he stepped into the cool water. When he reached her, he pulled her into a slow dance, and they swayed to the music of the birds and the wind rustling through the trees and tiptoeing through the flowers.
“I like dancing with you,” she said after a while, her eyes the color of the water.
“Likewise.” He drew their joined hands to his lips. “When we danced on our first date, I was utterly overwhelmed with you.”
“Same.”
“And speaking of dates, I want to take you out dancing again, this time to Veranda 62. They have a dance floor on the pier, and I want to dance with you on the water in the moonlight.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, Noah, that’s too much. The prices are—”
“I don’t care about the prices. I want to take you out. I’m tired of hiding our relationship, but—no, however,” he swapped, using her word from when they’d first danced. “Before you say yes, there’s something you need to know.”
“Okay.” Her eyebrows drew together, and she stood straighter.
“I want to walk in the open with you, hand in hand, but you must understand what that’ll mean for you. Your private life won’t be private anymore. The paparazzi love me, so they’ll dig on you simply because you’re with me. They’ll learn about your dad, Emma, and what he did to you.”
Her lips pursed, and a crease formed in the center of her forehead. “I hadn’t thought of that. There’s a lot in my past that hurts me. What if someone used it to hurt you?”
There she was again, thinking of how it would affect him and not just how it would affect her.
“Anyone who would dare use your past against me deserves the full wrath of my legal team, which, as you might know, is headed by an amazing lawyer.”
Her smile was quick and genuine. “Yeah, I heard she was pretty good.”
“Pretty good? She’s the best.” He pressed his lips to hers. “If I had a way of stopping the press’s prying, I would. I’d do anything except willingly give you up, which is about the only way I can think of that they’d leave you alone.”
“And I don’t want that.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushed onto her tiptoes. “I’m just starting to get used to the idea of us.”
“What’s going on,Lady Boss? Why does it look like you’re about to be led to the gallows?”
Emma straightened in her office chair and lifted her head to face her secretary, and with the seriousness that befit the task at hand, said, “I have to go shopping again.”
“What kind of shopping are you talking about?” Gwen asked. “From the look on your face, I’m thinking caskets.”
“No, not caskets. Worse. Dresses.”
The idea of going to Veranda 62 with Noah had elated her so much—especially the absolute happiness that had lit his face when she’d said yes—that she’d been too swept away in the romance to let pesky little things like reality get her down. Reality, however, had slapped her in the face the night before when she realized she had absolutely nothing appropriate to wear to an upscale place like that.
If she and Noah stayed together, she would seriously need to up her wardrobe game.
“Okay.” Head cocked to the side, Gwen leaned a hip on Emma’s desk. “If you’re just going dress shopping, then why so serious and gloomy?”
“Because this dress needs to be positively spectacular.” And likely stupidly expensive, and she hated the idea of throwing away money on something she’d probably only wear once. But how could she not go all out? Tonight would be the first time the world would see her with Noah. They’d be judging her no matter what, so she might as well look her best.
“How spectacular are we talking here?” Gwen asked.
“Think prom but with fewer sequins and glitter.”
“Ooh, color me intrigued and hit me with the deets.”
“No.”
“Come on, Emma! Spill! Where are you going that requires such head-turning threads? Because that’s what you’re going for, right? Head-turning.”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“Okay, now I have to know. Where are you going?”
“Please refer back to my previous comment.”
A smile split Gwen’s face as if every lightbulb on the planet had simultaneously gone off in her head. “O.M.G., you’re dating someone, and he’s taking you out somewhere fancy! That must be it. Oh, please, tell me that’s it. Pleeeeeeease.”
Emma tried to formulate a response to send Gwen down a rabbit hole, but she took too much time preparing her answer.
“That is it. Yea. You’re dating someone!” Gwen danced a triumphant little jig before plopping into one of the chairs opposite Emma. “Where’s Mr. Mysterious taking you?”
“Go away, Gwen,” Emma said, but at least she was laughing now.
“Hmm. I haven’t heard of that place. Is it new?”
“Shut up.”
“Haven’t heard of that one, either.”
Emma looked heavenward. She had to rein in her secretary and impress upon her the importance of keeping this contained for a while longer. “Can’t I just tell you I’ll be going somewhere tonight with someone very special, and later, I’ll open up?”
Gwen gave Emma her adorable trademark pout.
“I need time, Gwen, okay? This relationship is still new and tenuous, so I don’t want to jinx things.”
“Fine. I’ll give you some time, but like, are we talking Monday or like a month from Monday?”
Emma shrugged.
“You’re killing me, Lady Boss!” Gwen slumped into her seat and gave her best bereaved southern belle impersonation, which was positively hilarious when paired with her plaid skirt, black top, and black knee boots—to say nothing of the fishnet stockings or red tips in her hair. The woman never seemed to settle on a hair color.
“I’ll spill,” Emma said. “When I’m ready. That’s the best I can do.”
“Fine.” After one last pout that even Scarlett O’Hara would be proud of, Gwen righted herself. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna hound you every day for those deets.”
“I expect nothing less from you. Now, go away. I need to summon the will to go shopping.”
“Oh, did someone say shopping?”
Emma’s gaze snapped up as Esme strode into the room, making Emma’s entire office simply dazzle. She wore a deep-blue sleeveless dress that was fitted at the waist. She’d paired the dress with a long strand of pearls worn in lariat fashion.
“Esme!” Emma rocketed to her feet, her smile already blooming as she hurried around the desk. “I didn’t know you were dropping by. What a pleasant surprise.”
“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see you.” Catching Emma off guard, Esme kissed both of her cheeks. “It’s good to see you again, Chiquita. It has already been much too long.”
Recalling the similar way she’d greeted her son at the party, Emma smiled.
“Do you have a few minutes?” Esme asked.
“For you, of course, I do. I’m nearly finished for the day, anyway. Gwen and I were just discussing—”
“Shopping. Yes, I heard. I can hear that word from miles away. Just ask my husband.”
Gwen looked from Emma to Esme and back to Emma, her slow grin telling Emma all she needed to know. Gwen had just put the pieces together, but that was later’s problem.
Gwen took a step toward the door. “I’ve got a, uh, few things to, uh, file before I call it a day, so I’m gonna, ya know, get.” But as she crossed the threshold, she looked back at Emma and mouthed, “Call me.”
Emma didn’t respond, simply shut the door behind Gwen.
When Emma turned back, Esme held a black box in her hand and offered it to Emma. Emma didn’t need to open it to know jewelry of some sort hid inside.
“This is just a little something to say thank you for making my mamá so happy on her birthday,” Esme said.
Emma didn’t take the gift. “I don’t need anything for that. You’ve given me all the reward I needed by telling me how happy it made her.”
“It would mean a lot to me if you would take this.” Esme’s expression was as warm and inviting as a spring afternoon.
How could Emma say no?
She took the gift and opened it. A delicate white gold chain sat inside. On the chain hung a single charm: a star formed by dozens of diamond slivers that looked as if they’d been smashed together. It was elegant and stunning, just like Esme.
“Esme, this’s gorgeous. Too gorgeous. I can’t—” Emma pressed the box back into Esme’s hands. “It’s too much.”
“Nonsense.” Esme freed the necklace and draped it around Emma’s neck before she could object. When Esme finished, she took a step back and stared at Emma. “Oh, Mija, it’s perfect.”
A singular word had tears stinging the backs of Emma’s eyes: mija. It was a Spanish endearment, a joining of “mi” and “hija,” which translated to “my daughter,” and it simply swamped her.
Esme’s face turned serious. “Mija, you’re crying. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Emma wrapped her arms around Esme and held on. “Absolutely nothing at all.”