Chapter 2 Noah #2
Every instinct inside of me was screaming to get this woman to a doctor.
Three days in a coma, two days dead, and then she magically popped back to life?
That must require medical attention, right?
Hell, scientists would probably want to study her.
But she sounded so scared, so convinced that she was in danger, and with Beau’s brother being the sheriff, and two more cousins on the police force, calling them meant he’d immediately be notified.
And it wasn’t like we could bring her to a local clinic without Beau finding out.
He might have been a monumental asshole, but he was smart, and rich. I wouldn’t put it past him to find a way to get Emma moved back into the family hospital under his watch, where he’d have complete control over her again.
“Emma, if you’re set on hiding, we need to get this grave put back together.”
“How long will that take? I need a shower.” She pulled back enough to glance around, her pupils wide with fear. “And to get the hell out of this hole.”
“Hours if I do it myself. I can take you back to my place and get you settled first, and then return.”
She clung on harder. “No, please don’t leave me. I can’t be alone right now.”
“Then let me at least call my dad. He can get it done, and you know that man can keep a secret.”
She hesitated, probably picturing my father, Hank Evans, the big, scary, bearded, antisocial bastard everyone in town avoided.
Almost no one spoke to him besides his immediate family, and he only spoke to other townsfolk if forced at gunpoint.
So, never. As far as secret keepers went, he was as good as it got.
“He won’t tell anyone?” Emma said.
“Not if I ask him not to.”
She stared up at me, her brown eyes bottomless pools of darkness. “You swear?”
“I swear.”
She let out the longest exhale I had ever heard. “Okay, then.”
“I’m gonna help you up now,” I warned her. “Let me know if anything hurts.”
She tried to squirm free. “No, I’m too heavy.”
I frowned, hugged her closer, and stood slowly, my arms around her waist, easily holding her aloft. Was she a curvy goddess? Yes. Could I still bench-press her? Also yes.
“Oh,” she said in a soft voice, looking down.
“Can you get your feet under you?” I asked.
“Y-yeah, sorry.”
I gave her a second and then gently set her on them, warning her the silk lining would be slippery. She wobbled a little, her legs not wanting to hold her. Seeing her unsteadiness, I decided the easiest way to get us both out would be for me to climb up first and then pull her after me.
A few minutes later, we were in the excavator rumbling back to the garage, both of us covered in dirt.
Emma was sitting in my lap because the seat only fit one person.
High school Noah would have lost his mind over it, but adult Noah was still too concerned about Emma’s welfare to appreciate having such a gorgeous woman wrapped around me.
I was struggling to process the events of the past hour; I couldn’t even imagine how she was feeling.
“Talk to me,” I said. “I’m worried you might go into shock or something.”
“I feel like I might already be there,” she said, shivering.
I pulled her closer with my free hand. “Sorry I’m so sweaty.”
“No, I don’t mind,” she said. “I need the body heat.”
“Emma . . . how the fuck did this happen?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. The last thing I remember is hearing another rumor about Beau cheating on me, and I think I snapped or something. I went into his home office and pried open all the locked desk drawers, trying to find proof so he couldn’t lie to me this time.
Instead, I found a bunch of unpaid bills and a pile of late notices for our mortgage and cars.
We have a joint checking account, but he paid for almost everything out of a separate one only he had access to.
I was able to get into it from his computer, and .
. . well, it was overdrawn. I went back through the payment history as far as I could.
We’d been living well outside our means for years. ”
“How?” I asked. Between Beau’s inheritance and salary, they should have been rolling in dough.
“That’s what I wanted to know,” she said. “I waited for him to come home, then confronted him. The last memory I have is us fighting at the top of the stairs, and . . . I think he pushed me down them.”
I tightened my hold on her, starting to shake again. This time with the violent urge to go murder her husband. “I’m so fucking sorry,” I said, the words feeling inadequate.
She sniffed, dropped her head to my shoulder, and started crying again, the sounds muffled as she tried to fight it.
I eased my foot off the gas and wrapped both my arms around her because my long-ass legs meant I could steer with my knee at this speed.
“I have you,” I told her. “It’s okay to let go. ”
Her sides heaved as the floodgates opened, and huge, loud, heartbreaking sobs tore from her throat.
I wished there was something I could do besides just sit there and hold her.
Wished I could take her pain away or go back in time to prevent this from happening in the first place.
What she’d been through, no one should have to experience.
No wonder she didn’t trust anyone right now. No wonder she needed time to process.
I rubbed my hands over her back, making soothing noises, my eyes searching the grounds as I drove because her story had turned me paranoid, and I was worried Beau might suddenly show up to .
. . I don’t know? Check on the grave or something?
Make sure his work was complete? Murderers were always doing shit like that in crime documentaries.
God help him if he did. Because I was mad enough to bury him alive.