“Think of your daughter,” Emma offered, hoping there was still a smidgen left of the loving father he had once been. “She needs me. I promised Robbie I’d look after Sissy while she was in prison.”

  “I can take care of my girl.”

  “Can you? Look at yourself, man. Your hands are shaking and you’re sweating like a pig. Until you kick the habit you can’t even take care of yourself.”

  “What do you care? You never liked me, anyway. You just tagged along with the band because you figured we were your ticket to stardom.”

  Sadly, he was correct. “I was wrong. About a lot of things,” she said, nodding. “But I can make amends for some of my bad choices by taking care of Sissy. You know she likes me. She needs a woman’s touch. All little girls do.”

  “Suppose you’re right. All you have to do is tell me where Robbie hid the money and I’ll let you go.”

  “Really?” The way Emma saw it, there was about a ten percent chance he’d keep his promises. Maybe even less, given the fact that she was unable to cite specifics about the money. The only information her nightmares had provided was the scene with Robbie, when Emma had been unable to make out what the other woman was trying to tell her before she’d boarded the bus.

  Blake seemed to think something was hilariously funny because he began to chortle, then cough before stopping the truck, opening the door and leaning out to be sick.

  That was the opportunity Emma needed. She released her seat belt, jerked open the door and slid out.

  Hard, incessant rain pelted her, quickly plastering her hair to her cheeks and soaking her clothing. She barely noticed. All she cared about was getting away.

  Arkansas clay made the unpaved roadway so slippery she fell repeatedly, caught herself, then kept scrambling forward, not daring to look back.

  Blake would surely be behind her. He was larger. Stronger. More dressed for hiking through brush in the middle of a deluge than she was.

  She lost her foothold at the edge of a gulley and started to slide backward.

  Fingers clawing at the mud, vision blurred by cascading rainwater, Emma grasped handful after handful of rotten leaves and twigs, failing to find a secure hold.

  She teetered, her arms windmilling, and almost regained her balance.

  Just when she thought she’d make it up the slope, her soggy clothing was grabbed from behind and she was jerked off her feet.

  Blake had her. The battle was over. She’d lost.

  * * *

  As Travis drove aimlessly through territory that was achingly familiar, he wondered if he’d ever see Emma again.

  His imagination was working overtime, showing him scenario after scenario—all dreadful. He was about to head for home when his cell rang.

  He snatched it up, daring to hope it was good news.

  “Hello?”

  “Travis, it’s me,” his aunt said. “They’ve carted Jet off to the hospital. Harlan says for you to come in. There’s nothing anybody can do until they spot the truck Blake’s driving.”

  “I know that. I just...”

  “Hold on a second.”

  The silence on the line was more nerve-racking than useless conversation. When Cleo spoke again her voice was muffled, as if she was trying to mask her words.

  “Listen up. Adelaide just radioed Harlan. She thinks she’s found the truck out near the south fork of the Spring River.”

  “That covers a lot of ground. Where, exactly?”

  “I’ll go try to find out.”

  Travis held his breath. That branch of the Spring did cut through nearby farms and ranches but it also ran for miles, so there was no guarantee the truck was even in Fulton County.

  “By Jenkins Ford,” Cleo returned to whisper. “Sounds like the place you boys used to go fishin’.”

  And where Emma and I used to go to be alone and dream about our future, he added to himself. At least they both knew that neck of the woods well enough to keep from getting lost.

  “Don’t tell Harlan, but I’m close to the ford and heading that way. Thad loaned me a gun.”

  “Take care,” she said. “I’ll be prayin’ hard that you won’t have to use it.”

  * * *

  Parts of the surrounding terrain seemed familiar to Emma as Blake manhandled her through the thick forest, cursing and shoving her whenever she tripped or didn’t follow his orders quickly enough to suit him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You should know. You were raised here same as me.”

  Blowing sheets of water blinded her, but at least the rain had helped wash off some of the slimy, red mud. Emma pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to peer through the stands of budding trees. A glade of dogwoods was the only lightness in sight, their white petals being bombarded by water, their thin branches whipped by the gale.

  I’m like them, she thought absently. Smaller and more fragile than others, yet tenacious and flexible enough to bend in the storm to keep from breaking.

  A slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Those lovely little trees were one of the hidden treasures of the usually plain-looking forest. Every spring, their white flowers appeared in the understory of the larger trees and blinked out at passersby as if delighted to be providing such an unexpected show of loveliness.

  Suddenly, Emma’s thoughts coalesced and she knew where Blake was taking her. The gulf. A cliff that overlooked the collapsed ceiling of one of the many limestone caves that formed a labyrinth beneath the Ozarks Mountains. Every once in a while, one of the cave roofs would get too thin or too weighed down by stalactites and fall in, leaving a deep pit with unstable rims but spectacular views for those brave enough to creep close to the edge and look down.

  She came to such an abrupt halt her captor crashed into her and stepped on her heel. It had not been her intent to leave her shoe behind, but when the mud sucked it off her foot she didn’t try to retrieve it. Her feet were already so icy she hardly felt the rough terrain as she continued forward.

  They had to be getting close to the unsafe area, she concluded, wondering if either of them would see it in time to keep from falling hundreds of feet onto the jagged formations at the bottom.

  Chances of anyone catching up to them at this point were slim and none, Emma realized. Nevertheless, she let herself be herded another hundred yards or so, then surreptitiously shed her other shoe. It wasn’t much of a clue, nor was it likely to be spotted when it was covered in so much mud. Still, it gave her the slightest glimmer of hope.

  That was all she had left. Hope and faith that someone, someday, would make Blake Browning pay for what he was evidently planning to do to her.

  * * *

  Travis spotted the red-and-blue flashing lights of the patrol car as soon as he turned down the narrow track that led to the river crossing he sought.

  Dressed for the foul weather in a slicker, rain pants, rubber boots and a clear, waterproof cover for her hat, Adelaide flagged him down.

  “Wait here,” she ordered. “Backup’s on the way.”

  Travis did nod but he had no intention of taking orders from anyone, not even Harlan.

  “Which way did they go?” he asked as he stepped out into the rain.

  “Can’t tell. It’s too wet. Do you know this area?”

  “Yeah. If Emma’s leading Blake, I may know where they’re headed.”

  “Suppose he’s the one picking the trail?”

  “Then your guess is as good as mine,” Travis said flatly. “Got another slicker in your car you could loan me?”

  “Sorry. No. Just wait in your truck, like I said, and let us handle this.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry,” Travis told her. “I’m not waiting.” He saw her hand slip under her coat, ostensibly toward her holster. “You can threaten me all you want. It won’t make any difference.”

  Pausing, he pointed. “Jones Ford is that way. But there’s a place Emma and I used to go east of here. That’s where I’m headed, so when the others get here, please ask them not to shoot me.”

  “Travis...”

  He could hear her starting to use her radio as he vanished among the trees. Not having the bright yellow slicker was actually an advantage because he’d be virtually invisible in wet, worn denim.

  Every few hundred feet he paused just long enough to listen. The worst of the storm had passed so the rain was more steady and the thunder had abated.

  Parts of the path he’d taken seemed to have been disturbed recently but he couldn’t tell if that was a result of the rushing runoff from the storm or the footsteps of humans.

  Torn as to whether he might be on the right track or headed in totally the wrong direction, he was about to turn and backtrack when he saw it. A shoe. A small, once-white tennis shoe.

  There was no doubt in his mind that it was Emma’s. The question that cut him to the heart was whether she’d been alive when it had dropped off her foot.

  * * *

  Blake took hold of Emma’s hair as they approached the precipice of the collapsed cave. She had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out when he yanked her closer.

  “All right,” he shouted into her ear, his breath so fetid it almost made her gag. “I’m gonna give you one more chance to come clean. Either you tell me where my wife hid the money or over you go. I’m through playing games.”

  Denial did not seem sensible, even if she didn’t know how to answer his question. Still, she was out of excuses. Now that he’d read the newspaper report, there was no way she’d be able to convince him it was just a ploy. First, he never had believed she’d had amnesia. And second, she had meant her story of recovered memory to sound credible. Too bad it had appeared in print before she’d had time to prepare a defense.

  “I—I did remember one thing,” Emma sputtered, stalling and wondering if there might be any truth to what she was about to say. “It was weeks after we were all arrested that first time. Robbie told me she’d lied to get the rest of us off the hook with the cops and had made a plea deal that gave up Mack as the big boss.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know,” Blake rasped.

  They were both shivering at this point. Emma was merely cold and figured she was suffering from shock. When she saw how badly Blake’s hands were shaking and how pale he’d grown, she wondered how much longer he’d be able to stay on his feet. The drugs he’d taken had to be wearing off. Would his collapse come quickly enough to save her?

  Struggling for balance, she shrieked when he seemed to be readying to shove her over the edge. Instead, he kept her canted at an awkward angle and demanded, “What else? There must be more.”

  Was there? There was! “She asked me to take care of Sissy and said there was cash I could take and run away.”

  “Where!” Blake roared, looking and sounding on the verge of hysteria.

  “We—we were standing next to the bus. Robbie pointed to it. But I never had a chance to look for the money because the next thing I knew, you had me locked up in chains.”

  He blanched and started to relax his grip on her hair.

  Emma grabbed his wrist with both hands to keep from toppling into the abyss if he let go too abruptly.

  One of her feet started to slip. She could feel the ground passing beneath those toes. As wobbly as Blake was already, they were likely to go over together. The last face she would see was that of her worst enemy.

  If only she’d trusted Travis, had told him everything the way she now knew she should have. But she had not. So, she was about to die at the hands of a madman.

  A strange peace came over her, as if she were cradled in the arms of God. Emma closed her eyes, weary beyond imagining, summoning her last ounce of strength, nearly through fighting a hopeless battle she could not win.

  Wind raced up the steep sides of the chasm, chilling her to the bone. She felt nearly weightless for long seconds, as if she could spread her arms like eagle’s wings and ride the updrafts into the clouds.

  A strong hand closed around her wrist.

  She opened her eyes.

  Was she seeing things again? Was her mind playing more tricks?

  The agony in Travis’s expression told her otherwise. She yearned to reach for him, to move into his embrace and stay there forever.

  All three figures on the cliff rim were being buffeted by the gusty remnants of the storm.

  Wide-eyed, Emma saw Travis start to falter, to lean too far in her direction.

  “Let go!” she screeched at him.

  He gritted his teeth and held tight. Sank his heels into the slippery mud and threw himself bodily away from the edge, carrying her with him.

  Emma’s scream was echoed by another as Blake Browning slid over the edge into oblivion. He managed to get off one wild shot before all was still.

  Lying in the mud beside her rescuer, Emma gasped for breath and tried to convince herself Travis was all too real. It wasn’t until she saw his unshed tears mixing with rain and felt his arms around her that she truly believed.

  Her ordeal was over. They had been given a second chance.

  She was still clinging to him and silently weeping for joy when he carried her out of the woods.

  He joined her in the waiting sheriff’s car where they shared the soggiest, most amazingly wonderful kisses Emma had ever received.

  Their trials were finally over.

  She smiled at the man she had loved for a long, long time. This wasn’t the end.

  It was a new beginning.

  EPILOGUE

  Even without Blake’s confession, Emma and Travis were able to provide enough background information to result in a successful appeal of Roberta Browning’s conviction.

  They’d delayed their wedding day long enough for Robbie to be released and help entertain during and after the ceremony. Logan Malloy, the pastor of Serenity Chapel, was officiating at the outdoor rite while Cleo took charge of the reception to be held later under the shade of spreading oak and sycamore trees.

  Sheriff Allgood had managed to locate Emma’s mother. She had happily flown back to Arkansas for a reunion and again for the nuptials, ecstatic to learn that her only child was alive and well.

  Nervous, Emma accepted her bouquet from Becky Malloy, the pastor’s wife. “Did my mom get Sissy dressed okay? She can be difficult sometimes.”

  “No problem,” Becky told her with a wide grin. “Robbie was busy getting her CD accompaniment cued up so I recruited that sweet Jill Andrews to help, too. I figured anybody who’d been Sissy’s foster mom for a while would be able to handle anything, even tantrums.”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Emma said with a sigh. “I’ve tried to explain everything to Sissy but I still don’t think she fully gets it.”

  “She will, in time,” the pastor’s wife said. “There’s no hurry. Now that she has her real mama back she should settle down in a hurry.”

  “I wish I could say the same for myself. My mom’s a sweetie, but she’s been hovering so much I had to assign her to look after my flower girl just so I could have a minute’s peace.”

  Emma glanced at herself in the full-length mirror in the upstairs room. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

  “Getting married, or marrying Travis?”

  “Both.” Nervous, she giggled. “He insists he’s forgiven me for all the problems I caused.”

  “I’m sure he has.” Becky opened the door, looked down and smiled. “I see your escort is ready.”

  “Hey, don’t laugh,” Emma said, before doing exactly that. Travis and Cleo had made a lei for Bo that matched her bridal bouquet and had bathed him so well he smelled better than the flowers around his neck.

  “Don’t you need a leash?” Becky asked.

  Emma shook her head. “Nope. He’s just like his owner. Faithful and reliable and wants to be sure I’m okay practically every minute. They’re both real keepers.”

  “What about your singing career?”

  “If the Lord wants me to find fame He’ll bring it to me right here in Serenity,” Emma said. “It’s taken me a long time, but I’ve finally realized I didn’t have to go anywhere else to fulfill my fondest dreams.”

  Stepping out into the hall, she gave the faithful hound a pat on his broad head, lifted her chin, smiled and started down the stairs with Bo at her side.

  She couldn’t wait to be joined to Travis in holy matrimony. For the rest of their lives.

  * * * * *

  Dear Reader,

  Who we are today depends a great deal on who we were yesterday. And yet, nothing is carved in stone. It’s possible to turn your life around for the better, particularly by the grace of God.

  In the case of Emma Lynn Landers, even though her memories are hazy and her thoughts distorted by trauma, she has not completely lost her identity. Taking steps to return to her roots, to the man she once loved and to the Christian faith that sustains her finally brings peace.

  Not all of us can go back the way Emma did, but we can go forward. Yesterday is gone. Today is a gift. Use it wisely.

  Thank you for reading A Trace of Memory. I hope you enjoyed it!

  Blessings,

  Questions for Discussion

  Emma flees without really knowing why she’s running away. Have you ever been so overwrought that all you wanted to do was escape? What did you end up doing?

  Because Emma truly cannot remember what happened to her, she’s unable to convince others why she’s so frightened. Can you identify with her desire to be believed simply because she’s a truthful person?