ONE
“Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa-la-la-la. La-la-la-la-laaaaaa,” Emma Fairchild sang as she dipped a roller into a paint pan and swiped it over the walls of her newest project.
Arianna’s Diner. Soon to be Mrs. Daphne’s Diner. Named for Emma’s great-aunt, Bea Daphne.
“’Tis the season to be jolly,” she continued even though she wasn’t at all jolly.
For Bea’s sake, she’d been faking happiness for the past two months. She thought she’d been doing a pretty good job of it. But with Christmas approaching and work on the diner intensifying, she was exhausted, grumpy and desperate to be back in Boston and away from the city she’d always hated.
Sagebrush, Texas. Home of every bad dream she’d ever had, birthplace of every bad memory.
Well, not exactly every one.
Boston hadn’t exactly been good to her in the week before she’d left to care for Bea.
She scowled, refusing to think of her breakup as anything other than fortunate. She might not be happy to be in Sagebrush, but she was thrilled to be done with her no good ex-boyfriend, Camden Maxwell.
Sure, you are, her heart whispered.
She ignored it, rolling more paint on the wall and stepping back to view her progress. Not bad. She should have been pleased. Opening a restaurant had always been part of her life plan. The problem was, she’d never ever planned to do it in Sagebrush. That made it a little difficult to be happy about all the sweat equity she was pouring into the place. Not to mention the money.
“Get over yourself, Em,” she hissed, as irritated with herself as she was with the situation. It was no one’s fault that Bea’s health was declining or that her memory was going. She had no kids. No family aside from Emma. She needed someone, and Emma was going to be there for her. Even if that meant living in Sagebrush permanently.
Or until Bea didn’t need her any longer.
The doctor had said Emma’s great-aunt would probably be around for five or ten more years. Emma was hoping for twenty. She loved Bea more than she’d ever hated Sagebrush. Loved her so much that she was going to open the diner and commit to running it for as long as Bea was around. When she was gone, Emma would sell the place and move on to a new town and a new project.
She sighed and swiped paint on a spot that she’d missed.
God was in control. He had a perfect plan. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything close to what Emma’s perfect plan had been. Another couple of years working as sous-chef at one of Boston’s premier restaurants, marriage, a house and, finally, a restaurant of her own. She’d made a list. She’d checked it twice. She’d gone over details and facts and figures. She’d shown all of it to Camden because he was the one she was supposed to do everything with.
“I’m such an idiot,” she muttered as she carried the paint pan and roller into the kitchen.
She dropped the pan into the deep stainless-steel sink and wrapped the roller in plastic. Tomorrow she’d paint a second coat in the dining area and roll fresh paint onto the kitchen walls. Right now she really needed to get home. She glanced at her watch.
Nearly eleven.
She hadn’t realized it was so late. Bea would be worried and probably hungry. She’d been having trouble remembering to eat.
Emma turned off the light in the dining room, plunging the diner into darkness. Wide windows looked out onto a sidewalk and street that bustled with life during the day. Both were silent and empty. A few business owners had hung Christmas lights in the windows of their shops. Others had placed wreaths on doors or Christmas decorations in large display windows.
It should have been cheerful, but it just made Emma feel sad and lonely. Camden had been planning to give her an engagement ring on Christmas Eve. He’d told her that when he’d given her an ultimatum. Either stay in Boston with him or travel to Texas to take care of her aunt. She couldn’t have both, because he wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted a long-distance relationship.
She’d heard the truth in his words—he just hadn’t really wanted her. Not enough to make things work while she took care of Bea.
Jerk.
She grabbed her purse and jacket from the office. A small window looked into the back parking lot. Empty but for her car. One day it would be full of cars and people. She hoped. Prayed.
There was no plan B.
She flicked off the office light and the kitchen light. The entire diner was suddenly dark and silent. Eerie, really.
No. Not eerie. Just exactly the way a restaurant was supposed to feel when it was closed. The problem was, she’d been listening to too many people saying too many things about the murder of the diner’s former owner. People seemed to think Arianna’s death had somehow tainted the building. Ludicrous! That was what Emma thought, but all the talk had kept the building from selling. That had worked out for Emma. She’d purchased the property for well below market value. Hopefully, the notoriety that went with the place would bring in crowds rather than keeping them away.
She opened the back door, fumbling in her purse for the key. A soft rustling sound broke the silence, a whisper of fabric on air, a shift in the darkness to her right. She swung toward it, her heart stuttering as a black figure lunged from the shadows.
She screamed, sprinting toward the car, her purse falling from her hands.
Faster! her mind screamed, but her feet seemed to be moving in slow motion, the air behind her so charged with energy that she knew he was right there. A step away. Ready to....
An arm wrapped around her waist. A palm slapped over her mouth. She couldn’t scream. Could barely breathe.
God, help me!
“Where is it?” her captor growled, his hand tightening over her mouth, his grip so hard her teeth ground into her lips. She bucked, slamming her head into his chin.
He cursed, forcing her, one step after another, back into the diner. He shoved her into the kitchen, and she crashed into the center island prep area, pain shooting through her ribs. Then he was on her again. One hand on her throat, the other pressing her harder against the cold metal counter.
“I said, where is it?”
“Where is what?” she gasped, her fear so real, so sharp that she could feel nothing else, think of nothing else.
“The money!” he snarled.
She had three dollars in her purse. Maybe another dollar worth of change. She tried to tell him that, but he dragged her around, slapped her so hard she saw stars.
He was going to kill her. Simple as that. But she didn’t want to die. She swung her fist, connecting with a hard jaw. She felt a second of victory before he hit her again, this time with enough force to send her flying backward. She landed hard, her head smashing into the floor. Darkness edged in, but she scrambled to her feet, tried to run. He snagged the back of her hair, yanking so hard her eyes teared.
“Stop fighting me! I just want the money. Give it to me, and I’ll leave you be.”
She wanted to. She really did, but she had no idea what he was talking about. “My purse—”
Someone knocked on the diner’s front door.
Emma’s attacker froze, his hand still fisted in her hair.
The person knocked again, this time hard enough to rattle the doorframe.
“Who is it?” the man growled at Emma.
“I don’t know.”
He shoved her violently, and she stumbled forward, her knees hitting the tile floor. She felt no pain, felt nothing but the fear that coursed through her.
Balmy air lapped at her hot cheeks, and she realized