“Nothing’s right,” Marv insisted. “Not with Austin walking the streets a free man.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
For about fifteen seconds the tension ballooned, pushing the air right out of the SUV.
“I guess I’ll see you Saturday night?” Marv ventured finally.
Violet’s party. The invitations had already been issued. Violet was on the ball as usual.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Another lie. She’d lost count of the number in the past twenty-four hours.
“Well, I’d better get going.” Marv issued a half-hearted laugh. “Gotta get to the bank before closing time.”
“Thanks, Marv.”
He smiled at her, the expressionalmostgenuine. “Remember what I said, Em. Don’t let that bastard get to you.”
Marvin Cook climbed out of her car, crossed to his big truck with its huge wheels, and drove away.
Emily sat there, wondering how she could suddenly feel this tug in her stomach. A tug that somehow connected the anger and hurt she felt about the past to this new, creeping sensation of doubt and confusion confounding her instincts. All this time she’d been so certain. Was it possible that she really had only seen what she needed to see?
23
4:50 p.m.
Clint didn’t hang around to see what Emily and Cook were up to. Maybe he should have, but he’d gotten pissed off watching the guy hug her and had to leave. More proof just how screwed up he was.
It was Friday. He’d gotten an advance on next week’s paycheck and, as his mama would have said, it was burning a hole in his pocket. Felt strange to have money. Felt even stranger to be pulling into the Piggly Wiggly to spend it.
Seemed the whole town had the same idea. The parking lot was jam-packed. About the only thing he’d ever taken the time to buy was clothes, the occasional gift for his mama, and beer. This would be his first time going for groceries.
Inside, after grabbing a shopping cart, he took his time moving down the first couple of aisles. He didn’t remember there being so many choices. The endless possibilities left him feeling a little bewildered and a whole lot intimidated.
Now there was a hell of a note. He’d stood up to guys twice his size in prison—cold-blooded killers—and here he was flustered by the dozen or so brands of jam and jelly.
He moved on. Studied the various kinds of loaf bread on the shelves. White, wheat, white-wheat, honey-wheat. He gave up and grabbed a loaf of white. Ray had stocked Clint’s shelves with cannedand dried goods. Mainly all he needed was sandwich makings. Ham, bologna, cheese. And milk. Maybe some eggs and bacon.
Shoppers moved past him; those who recognized him stared briefly, then hurried on by. He didn’t let on that he noticed, kept his attention focused on sifting through the available cheeses. That was a big enough problem all by itself. He played it safe and went with a block of cheddar and some sliced American.
A mother with two children in her cart moved wide around him, her horrified gaze glued to him until she’d gotten well beyond where he stood.
Now that he couldn’t ignore. The idea that the woman thought her kids were in danger in his presence got to him more than it should have. He stared after her for several seconds. He didn’t recognize her, but she’d definitely recognized him. But then, what had he expected? The local paper had run something about him every day since he’d gotten back to town. He refused to give Ray credit for warning him about this. He wasn’t ashamed. Annoyed maybe, but not ashamed.
He picked up a jug of whole milk and placed it into his cart. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he hesitated before moving out of the dairy department. Slowly, he turned to find Emily watching him from the end of the canned fruits and vegetables aisle.
Those big brown eyes widened, but she didn’t even flinch when he openly stared back at her. For the first time since he’d come back to Pine Bluff he wondered what she was really thinking.
Did she actually believe that following him around like this, watching him, was going to make a difference? He thought of the way she’d come into his house. He’d seen the regret on her face when she had first looked at what some asshole had done to his mother’s things. But then Ray had said something that got to her and she’d gone off on a tangent about how she hoped Clint rotted in hell or some such.
He didn’t believe her.
Not anymore.
He’d gotten close to her when he’d stormed out to her car that evening, ready to give her a piece of his mind. Yeah, he’d gotten damned close. Close enough to see the way the pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. To smell the softness of her skin. And to hear her breath catch at his nearness.
She could shout to high heaven just how much she hated him, but there was still something between them. Something visceral and totally beyond her or his control.
He turned away from her, picked out a package of bacon, and headed for the checkout line.
