The trip to and from his office to deliver the laptop took only a minute or two.

  His mental journey from past to present to future was far more problematic. No matter how much he hoped things would turn out otherwise, he could not see one good reason Emma would ever agree to forgive him and become his wife. Proposing again was likely to have the same result it had had before.

  Besides, he reasoned, asking her to stop using her amazing singing voice was wrong. Her talent was God-given and should be shared with the world. Staying in Serenity, with him, would rob her of the professional career for which she was destined.

  Travis’s noble thoughts were immediately countered by his desire to tell Emma how he felt, to confess his love, even if she thought he was being silly and laughed at him.

  He passed her the laptop and straightened, praying for guidance and waiting for the right moment to speak up.

  Emma beat him to it. When she smiled at him and whispered, “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have a wonderful friend like you,” he was rendered speechless.

  Nodding and understanding far more than he wanted to, he turned on his heel and did the right thing. He walked away.

  FIFTEEN

  It didn’t take Emma long to find the coffeehouse from the matchbook and pull up its website. There wasn’t a lot to see beyond the usual shots of the cozy interior and one picture of the business logo that was an integral part of the facade. Because the café was located in a storefront on a Nashville side street, there wasn’t much about it that was memorable. Seeing those pictures did, however, jog her memory.

  There was somebody else she should remember. She knew there was as surely as she knew that the band’s troubles had begun in the innocent-looking establishment she was studying on Travis’s laptop. But who?

  Emma knew it was a man whose face she needed to recall. Old? Young? Tall? Short? Nothing specific came to her other than the fact that he was somehow connected to the music business. Which meant he could be any one of the thousands of people she’d met in Tennessee— convincing strangers who purported to be talent scouts and were mostly out to line their own pockets at the expense of naive newcomers.

  She did remember that happening to her group. They’d be promised a gig where some important record company executive was scheduled to be in the audience, then learn later that they’d been duped into performing for free.

  Picturing fancy Stetsons and boots, she first thought of Blake’s penchant for dressing like a drugstore cowboy. Then, she closed her eyes and saw more.

  The man in this vision was tall and thin, with a luxurious mustache and graying hair. He always wore the finest suede jackets with long fringe and intricate, Indian beadwork across the yoke, front and back. His silver-toed boots were also unique, as was the rattlesnake’s head and skin that made up his memorable hatband.

  Since Sissy was sleeping so peacefully on the sofa, Emma decided to bide her time and wait for Travis’s eventual return rather than call to him and chance waking the weary child.

  The more she recalled, the harder it was to sit still. Although she didn’t remember the man’s name, she could imagine hearing his voice clearly.

  “I’ll make y’all famous,” he’d drawled, flashing a smile that revealed a gold-capped tooth. “Shouldn’t take long. All we need is a little luck and the right venues. Stick with me, boys—and girls—and you’ll go places.”

  Emma suspected she had not liked him much to begin with, and that her opinion had not changed as time went on. He had manipulated Blake and the others until they’d run out of money, then had arranged for the loan that had sucked them deeper and deeper into debt.

  “All we have to do is deliver packages of handbills to the guys who own some of the places where we have gigs,” Blake had assured the others, “and we’ll get bonuses.”

  Picturing that scene, Emma saw Ben and Jet laugh. She had glanced over at Robbie and seen her shrug as if missing the private joke. They both had. Until it was too late and they were entangled in a drug delivery system that had ultimately led to their downfall.

  Emma concentrated and began to page through the interior pictures of the coffeehouse a second time. There had to be more clues here. Only there weren’t.

  Disgusted and more than a little frustrated, she left that site and did a search for similar places in and around Nashville, noting the names of other small bands, then following up with searches for their promo.

  That was where she hit the jackpot. All she could see was the back of a fancy, Western-cut jacket but that was enough. There he stood, applauding for another group of musicians who were clearly playing their hearts out for him and his cronies. How many others had there been?

  A sound behind her made Emma jump. She whipped her head around, then broke into a grin. “Travis! I’m so glad you came back.” She leaned aside and pointed to the computer. “Look what I found.”

  “What? That’s not Blake’s band, is it?”

  “No. Look at the guy next to the stage, the one with the beaded jacket. I’m almost positive he’s the one who got us into so much trouble.”

  “You can’t even see his face.”

  “I’d know that coat anywhere. I saw it often enough.”

  “Who is he?”

  Her senses had shifted into high gear the moment Travis had leaned over the back of the sofa to get a better view of the screen. Nevertheless, her concentration was strong enough to be certain when she replied, “I don’t remember his name. Not yet, anyway. But I’m sure he’s the one who promised Blake and the band so much and then involved us in drug pushing. That has to be where it started.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “Not enough to testify under oath, if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t explain how I know, I just do.”

  “I believe you,” Travis said, straightening and raking his fingers through his hair. “So, now what?”

  Emma cast a quick glance at the sleeping little girl. “I feel like I need to take a short walk to help me think. Do you mind sitting here with Sissy for a few minutes?”

  He made a face at her, bringing a smile back to Emma’s expression and a lightness to her heart. “I’ll behave,” she said. “I promise. I just need a chance to pace. You should understand that. You’ve been doing the same thing.”

  “Only since you showed up,” he countered, softening his remark with a smile of his own. “Okay. Hand me the laptop and I’ll keep looking for that beaded jacket. Who does that guy think he is? He looks like he got caught in a time warp and belongs back in the fifties.”

  “A lot of people seemed to know him. He’s not young. And I remember a thick, grayish mustache. If you happen to come across a picture of his face, holler.”

  “You’ll be in the house, right?”

  “Of course,” Emma replied, briefly patting his shoulder as he carefully took her place at the end of the sofa. “I’m not planning to go anywhere else.”

  Noting the arch of Travis’s eyebrows, she laughed softly and raised a hand, palm out. “I will not go outside. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never in scouting,” he said, still staring as if trying to read her thoughts.

  “No, but you sure impressed me when you got all the way up to Eagle Scout. I love a man in uniform.”

  The moment that revealing observation was out of her mouth she rued it. Truth to tell, she didn’t have to see Travis Wright in a uniform to appreciate him. He looked wonderful in worn jeans or his Sunday best. It didn’t matter. His welcoming smile and the sparks of emotion in his dark eyes were all it took to send shivers zinging through her and tear her wandering mind from anyone or anything else.

  Which is detrimental, Emma mused soberly. Unless she pulled herself together soon and remembered everybody who had brought her grief, she and all her friends were going to remain in terrible jeopardy.

  Deciding to change from the borrowed skirt so she could return it to Cleo, she headed upstairs to her room, noting as she stepped that a couple of risers squeaked and hoping that the noise hadn’t awakened Sissy.

  “Travis is right,” she murmured, proceeding. “It all depends on me. I have to remember more.”

  Yet the harder she tried, the less clear her thoughts were. It was as if clouds had dropped from the sky to obscure the past like thick fog.

  Surely the sun of recollection was still out there, bright and clear. All she had to do was wait for it to shine through and reveal everything.

  That was the hard part. The waiting. The wondering. The sense of foreboding that kept insisting she was as guilty as the others had been and was simply refusing to admit it.

  Crossing to the bedroom window, Emma looked out, leaned a shoulder against the sash and closed her eyes. “Father, I do want to know what happened. Really, I do. Even if it’s bad.”

  Was that true? she asked herself, wondering what the penalty might be for lying to God.

  “And if I’m fooling myself, please tell me that, too,” Emma added to her prayer.

  A distant noise caused her to open her eyes and squint down at the yard. Cleo’s blue car was coming up the lane and leaving clouds of dust in its wake.

  “We could use one of those spring showers, too, Father,” she added. “The pastures need rain.”

  Spoken like a farmwife, Emma realized with a start that led to a wan smile. There had been a time...

  “No,” Emma insisted. “I don’t belong here and I can’t stay one second longer than I have to, for Travis’s sake if not for my own. The more I start to imagine a future here, the worse it will hurt when I leave.”

  Talk about truth! Well, she’d asked for it, hadn’t she? So what was she complaining about?

  Slipping off the skirt and replacing it with a pair of jeans, she was about to put her tennis shoes on when she took another peek out the window.

  Cleo’s car was no longer visible but there was a lot of dust still hanging in the still air.

  A shiver of awareness coursed through Emma, leaving her unsettled. Thinking something was wrong.

  It was probably no more than a reaction of her already overstressed nerves to a normal sight and she was getting all worked up over nothing.

  “No,” she countered, spinning and starting back down the stairs barefoot. Nerves were the good Lord’s early-warning system. Even if hers were overworked and misfiring, she was not about to ignore them.

  Especially not now.

  * * *

  Travis heard Cleo arrive and call, “Come ’n get it before I feed it to the dogs!” just before the kitchen door slammed.

  He decided food would do Sissy good. She was stirring, anyway, so he lightly tapped her foot. “Time to wake up and eat again,” he said, taking care to keep his voice low and neutral.

  That effort obviously wasn’t enough. The child opened her eyes, sat up with a start and gave a tiny shriek.

  Emma rounded the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and rushed to comfort her. “It’s okay, honey. I’m here. You’re safe.”

  Although the little girl had immediately wrapped her thin arms around Emma’s neck, she was also peeking out at Travis. “I’m sorry I scared you, Sissy,” he said. “The lady who bakes the cookies just came home with fried chicken and we need to go eat supper.”

  “I know you like chicken,” Emma added.

  Travis arched an eyebrow as if to ask if she truly did remember and was relieved to see her nod. Considering some of the medical case studies he’d read, Emma was making extraordinary progress. Part of that was undoubtedly due to being home in Serenity among friends, but he wasn’t conceited enough to think that the Lord wasn’t having a divine influence on her recovery, as well.

  In this case particularly, Travis was more than willing to give God all the credit since he didn’t seem to be able to help much. Other than to try to protect Emma and the child, he added, hoping his skills were sufficient and wondering if he ought to give Thad Pearson a call and ask for backup from the former military man. Maybe he would phone Pearson Products Monday morning when the factory opened and see if Thad would loan him a pistol, at the very least.

  Cleo was bustling around the kitchen, setting out plates and silverware when the others joined her. She grinned. “Well, well, who’s our guest?”

  “This is my special friend, Sissy,” Emma said. “Sissy, meet Aunt Cleo, the cookie lady.”

  “So this is Sissy. My, my, what a pretty little thing. Kinda reminds me of her grandma Browning. Without the wrinkles, of course.” She chuckled to herself. “I bought the full dinner bucket. Figured I owed it to y’all since it took me so long to get home.”

  “We ate cookies while we waited,” Travis said, smiling at the sleepy child. “Didn’t we, Sissy?”

  “Probably spoiled your supper and hers, too,” his aunt said. “Oh, well, more for me and Emma.”

  “Emma had cookies, too,” Sissy piped up.

  That made Cleo laugh. “Oh, she did, did she? Well, well. I guess we won’t need all these plates after all.”

  “Yes, we will,” Travis said, helping her unload the bags and place the hot food in the middle of the table. “I’m starving.”

  “Okay, then grab a couple of phone books to raise that poor child up enough to see what’s on her plate,” Cleo ordered. “These chairs sit way too low for such a little thing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It amused Travis to hear Cleo so animated and acting so in charge. “You must have had quite a time with all your friends this afternoon.”

  “Did I ever!” She joined the others around the table and bowed her head briefly to say a blessing on the food before digging in. “You should have heard Velma and Kate when I told them about knocking out that fella with a flowerpot.”

  “His brother Blake was here,” Travis informed her. “That’s how we got Sissy.”

  “Mercy. I thought I was the only one having an exciting day.”

  An unexpected knock at the front door made everyone pause to listen.

  Emma was the first to speak. “I thought I saw more dust on the road after Cleo’s car passed and I meant to mention it, but by the time I got downstairs I’d forgotten.”

  “Perfectly natural,” Cleo said. “I do that all the time. Always have. If it wasn’t real common, nobody would need a shopping list or one of those smarty-pants phones.”

  “Smart phones,” Travis said, giving her a lopsided smile as he got to his feet. “I’ll go see who’s here.” His gaze met Emma’s and he quietly added, “It’s probably Samantha Rochard-Waltham.”

  As he left the table he heard Emma add, “And the social worker.”

  “You called them?” Cleo asked, frowning.

  “Travis did. I know it was for the best, I’m just having trouble thinking about letting Sissy out of my sight.”

  Listening, Travis had to agree. Parting was going to be hard on all of the adults, but his biggest concern was the child. If there was anything he could have done to change things for Sissy he would have. In a heartbeat.

  His hand closed on the knob. He opened the door.

  It wasn’t Samantha and her friend as they had all supposed. It was Blake Browning. And he was armed!

  * * *

  Emma almost choked on a mouthful of food when she saw Travis reenter the kitchen and realized who was with him.

  “Daddy!” the child squealed, clearly delighted. “We’re having chicken.”

  “Sorry I can’t stay for supper,” Blake said. He extended his free hand toward his daughter. “Come on, Sissy. Time to go.”

  More tense than she’d ever imagined possible, Emma gripped the edge of the table. With Blake’s gun trained on Travis’s back, there was no way she was going to make a false move. Not when his life depended upon her keeping her cool.

  “I—I haven’t had time to remember much more,” Emma said, stalling. “I’ve tried, but...”

  Blake looked to his child for confirmation. “Is that true?”

  Sissy nodded vigorously.

  “Too bad,” he said with a sigh. “I’d hoped having her with you would convince you to cooperate. Since you haven’t, we’ll try something else.”

  “Wait!” Emma was on her feet. “I did see a picture on the internet. It was our band’s promoter, I think. Tall guy. Fringed jacket and silver-toed boots?”

  Blake snorted derisively. “Yeah. That’d be good old Mack McLauchlin. He helped us, all right. Boy, did he.”

  “There were drugs involved, weren’t there?” Emma pressed. “We delivered them.”

  “I thought you had amnesia,” the armed man said with a sneer.

  “I did. I do. Snatches of memory come to me and I have to try to make sense of them. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” She stepped in front of the child. “Please, don’t take Sissy.”

  “And why shouldn’t I?”

  The little girl had been stuffing chicken in her mouth so her words were somewhat garbled. Unfortunately, they were clear enough for everyone to understand when she said, “We’re waiting for a lady.”

  Blake’s eyes narrowed, giving Emma the chills all the way to her core as he asked, “What lady? Were you dumb enough to call the cops again?”

  “No.” She raised her hand as if taking an oath. “I didn’t tell the sheriff about Sissy.”

  “Then who’s this lady you’re expecting? What does she have to do with me?”

  “Nothing,” Emma snapped, realizing she may have spoken too quickly, sounded too anxious.

  “Uh-huh. I’ll bet.” Browning once again held out his hand. “Come on, Sis. We’re getting out of here.”