Page 1 of Two Favors Repaid

Chapter 1

Emma

Trying to appear nonchalant, Emma browsed the wine section of the grocery store. Truth be told, she didn’t know anything about wine beyond the fact that she preferred red to white and that she wanted—scratch that, she needed—a bottle of wine tonight. She briefly considered the magnum bottles on the top shelf.

What’s that, like two full bottles?

She shook her head, quickly discarding the idea. She wanted to forget what had happened a year earlier, not end up in the hospital again—only this time with alcohol poisoning.

She ignored the top shelf as well. She wasn’t about to drop a hundred dollars on a wine bottle either; her teacher’s salary didn’t stretch that far. The middle shelves looked more promising. She spent a few minutes admiring the labels. She might not know anything about wine, but she knew a bit about art and loved looking at the drawings wineries came up with to represent their brand. Nostalgic, she thought of her easel and art supplies, which were currently gathering dust in a corner of her tiny guest bedroom.

She hated Stephen Ford then. For what he’d done to her best friend, Natalie, for what he’d done to those unfortunate young women, Felicia and Lanie, and for what he’d tried to do to her. She hoped he was dead and rotting in Hell.

She shook her head, angry at herself now. When Hunter, Natalie, and Rob had saved her life last summer she’d promised herself she wouldn’t let her attacker steal anything else from her, and yet here she was, a year later, still looking over her shoulder at every turn—and most importantly, still unable to paint.

Emma had always loved summer. Not because she liked being away from the kids, as parents of her kindergarteners might assume, but rather because it was her time to create. Every summer she painted the life of Sharp’s Cove as she saw it. Her watercolors were her life—or at least, they used to be. This summer, all she’d done was feel sorry for herself. Even the knowledge that school was only a few short weeks away wasn’t enough to get her to pick up her pencils.

Angry at herself now, Emma chose a random wine bottle and paid for it quickly at the self- checkout.

She walked out into the bright sunlight of Main Street, fumbling with her handbag, trying to fit the wine bottle inside and fish out her sunglasses at the same time. Her hazel eyes, sensitive to sunlight, were already watering a bit.

So absorbed in those two tasks, she didn’t hear the engine roaring towards her. It was only when she saw the large shadow cover the sun that she suddenly raised her eyes to see a black truck about to run her down.

From that moment on, everything happened as if in slow motion. She opened her mouth to scream, though only a gasp came out. The wine bottle slipped from her hand, seeming to float in the air for a moment. And in that time the truck got closer and closer to her.

I should close my eyes.

The thought had barely taken off when a huge force hit her from the side, sending her flying towards the shop window. The only thing that seemed strange to her was whatever hit her seemed to have done so from the left, not the direction the truck had been coming from. She heard the sound of metal crunching.

This is going to hurt.

Emma waited patiently for the ground to slam into her. When it did, she was surprised to realize it felt soft. Not soft like a cloud, which was what she imagined it might feel like if she’d died, but rather soft like a firm pillow. A pillow with a strange, manly smell. Somebody groaned. She opened her eyes to find the pillow had arms coming out of it, arms which were currently cradling her head and upper body.

Though she wanted nothing more than to stay exactly where she was, she forced herself to raise her eyes—and stared straight into Rob Hope’s deep green eyes. Eyes which, at the moment, shone with concern for her.

Damn.

Of all the people who could have saved her, it had to be Chief Deputy Hope.

He’d gotten himself to a kneeling position but still cradled her carefully in his lap. Emma noticed the left sleeve of his khaki shirt was torn. Rivulets of blood ran down his strong forearm all the way to his wrist.

He was mouthing something insistently, and she felt she owed it to him to pay attention.

“Emma! Emma! Are you okay?”

She raised a hand to reach for the blond locks falling over his eyes. She didn’t like the anguished look on his face.

“I’m … okay,” she croaked, surprised to find she was telling the truth. She’d expected to be dead, or really hurt, but she didn’t feel any pain. She pushed against his arms a bit, trying to sit up.

“Hold on, maybe you shouldn’t move,” he cautioned, but his arms loosened slightly.

Still shaky, Emma got to her knees. She turned to look at the front of the truck, which didn’t look like a truck at all anymore, just a crumpled mass of metal wrapped against a lamp post. Emma swallowed bile. She’d been standing right in front of that lamp post. If the truck had hit her, it would have pulverized her.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Emma?”

“It looks like I am, thanks to you.”

Rob’s smile lit up his face like a Christmas tree. She found herself responding to his infectious grin.