EMMA GROANED AS she came to. Her head throbbed and she felt nauseous. Putting her hand to her forehead, she slowly sat up. A jab in her hip produced a wince, and when she moved slightly, she found the brush she’d just bought.
Great, just freakin’ great.
Noticing the fuzzy outline of a few of her purchases scattered around her, she let out a frustrated sigh. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost her glasses. Virtually blind without them, especially in the dark, Emma got on her hands and knees and swept her immediate surroundings.
Confusing her further was the hay on the ground. She looked up and noticed she was in some kind of barn, but not the barn where she and Alex kept their horses. With such inadequate lighting, she spent another ten minutes trying to locate everything. Her glasses were trapped under her purse, but she was relieved to find they were undamaged as she put them on and had a good look around.
Where am I? Whose barn is this and what happened to the library?
The smell of horses and hay flooded her senses, and although darkness engulfed the space, there appeared to be a lantern lit at the front of the building.
Why would they use a lantern with all this straw around?
A shiver distracted her confusion when she suddenly realized she was freezing. Her short-sleeved shirt was entirely inadequate to ward off the cold.
Why am I freezing in the middle of summer?
As goose bumps crawled over her body, her head pounded in protest, so she dug in her purse for her stash of Advil and popped two, hoping it would take the edge off. Pulling out her cell phone, she flipped it open and scowled. No bars. She scrolled down to Hannah’s number and typed out a text message, but after hitting send, the phone went blank. She sighed.
I must be in a dead zone.
She consolidated her packages and shoved them into her carpetbag. Surprisingly, everything fit. Pushing herself up off the floor, she brushed the straw from her jeans and scanned her surroundings. A glance to her left revealed an old-fashioned buggy, and to her right, four stalls only half-filled. Before the sound of heavy feet fully registered in her mind, Emma was staring at a young black man holding a bridle.
Emma gasped.
His eyes widened. “Who are you?”
Emma squared her shoulders. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jack, missus.”
“Oh.” She backed up slightly. “Do you know where I am, Jack?”
Jack’s eyes widened. “You don’t know where you is?”
Emma wrapped her hand around a metal bar on one of the stalls and steadied herself. “No. I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You’s in Mr. Madden’s carriage house, ma’am.”
’Cause that clears it up so succinctly.
“Um, who is Mr. Madden, and where is his carriage house?”
Jack hung the bridle on a peg. “Mr. Madden is the boss and you’s in his carriage house.”
“Okay, let’s try this again.” A shiver shot up her spine, even as she fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Is Mr. Madden here?”
“No, ma’am, he gone to Harrisburg.”
Emma pointed to the floor. “And we are still in Portland, yes?”
“No, ma’am. We’s in Washington.”
How did I get over the bridge without knowing it?
“Well, if you’ll just give me the address, I’ll call my friend and have her pick me up.”
Jack shrugged. “If you’s close enough to call her, why she need to pick you up? You could jus’ walk.”
He must be involved in some kind of a mentally challenged work program. I hope this Mr. Madden doesn’t take advantage…
Emma wagged her finger and forced a smile. “You have a point, Jack.”
“Yes’m.”
She slid her bag onto her shoulder. “Um, if you could point me in the direction of a cab, perhaps I’ll find my own way home.”
“Yes’m. I can.”
Emma let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you.”
“I’d gladly point you in the direction of a cab, if’n you’s tell me what a cab was.”
Emma took a deep breath. “Transportation. I’d like to hire someone to drive me home.”
“We’s not in a place buggies come, missus. I could walk ya to the main street if’n you want.”
“Jack?” A large black woman came rushing into the carriage house and stopped short when she saw Emma. “Jack,” she hissed.
“Yes, Mama?”
“What is you doin’?”
“This white lady’s lost and she’s needin’ help to get home.”
Emma grimaced and quickly took in the old-fashioned dress and apron. Even with the sun setting, she noted the drabness of the gray fabric. “Sorry. I’ve caused a bit of confusion, I think. Jack’s offered to walk me to where I can catch a cab.”
Jack’s mother pushed her son out of the structure and squeezed his shoulders. “You’s never to be alone with a white woman, Jack, you know that.”
“She jus’ showed up, mama. I didn’t mean to.”
Emma inched her way out of the carriage house. “Ma’am, I’m sorry if I got him in trouble. It’s all my fault. If you could direct me to a place I could hire a cab, I’ll be on my way.”
“Missus, if you goes out on the street like that, I’m afraid what might happen.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’s almost naked.”
Emma swallowed. “Look, lady. My patience is wearing thin. I just want to know where I am so that I can go home.”
The woman lowered her eyes and backed away. “I’s sorry, ma’am.”
Guilt filled Emma. “Oh, please, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.” She rubbed her arms. “I’m just very confused.”
“Yes’m. I can see that.”
Emma shifted from foot to foot. “Let me start again. My name is Emma Wellington. What’s yours?”
“I’m Martha, missus. This here’s Jack.”
“Yes. Um, I don’t know where I am, exactly.”
Martha pointed to the carriage house. “You’s in Mr. Madden’s carriage house.”
“Yes, that’s what Jack said.” Emma forced back the squeal of frustration threatening to come out. “Is Mrs. Madden home?”
“There’s no missus, ma’am.”
“Okay,” Emma said slowly. “Would it be possible to come inside and use the phone?”
“Phone?”
“Yes, the phone. I need to call my friend for assistance.”
The clip-clop of hooves interrupted the confusing conversation, and two men rode into the alleyway between the house and carriage house. Emma shrunk back as they approached, the large blond man assessing her with open interest.
“Martha?”
Martha grinned up at him and nodded. “Mr. Madden. Mr. Simmonds. Welcome home.”
Jack rushed forward to take the reins and held the horses while the men dismounted. Mr. Madden removed his top hat and gloves as he closed the distance between his horse and Emma. “Ma’am?”
Emma cleared her throat and shrunk back. “Hi.”
His light blond hair was swept back over a smooth forehead, and full lips smiled between a mustache and soul patch. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He was gorgeous.
He’d be perfect in one of Sophie’s Civil War reenactments.
He glanced at his friend and then back at Emma. “Do you require assistance, ma’am?” he drawled in a thick southern accent.
Shoot! I hate cowboys.
“She done wandered into your carriage house, boss.” Jack tied the horses to one of the posts and bobbed his head up and down. “She says she’s lost.”
His concerned gaze swept her face. “Are you lost, ma’am? May we be of some assistance?”
Emma stood frozen, shivering from both the cold and fear.
Why are they in costume?
“No one will harm you.” Clayton held his hand out to her. “You have my word.”
I’m sure Ted Bundy used that line a time or two…
Emma swallowed. “And you are?”
“My name is Clayton Madden.” He pointed to his friend. “And that is Andrew Simmonds.”
* * *
Clayton paid close attention to the young woman as she backed away from his outstretched hand. Stunning. Tall and curvy, her blonde hair was styled strangely and she wore a pair of spectacles that magnified her large blue eyes. The dark pants that seemed to have been painted on showcased long legs, and her tight-fitting, short-sleeved blouse was low cut and flared at the bottom, hiding none of her obvious bounties. Clayton scowled. She is showing too much.
Taken back by his possessive thought, Clayton tried to rein his emotions. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Emma. Wellington.”
Andrew stepped forward and faced her. “Ma’am? Where did you come from? Is there somewhere we can take you?”
The lamp caught the sheen of tears as she shook her head and backed up again.
Andrew leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Ma’am? Can we help?”
“Andrew, don’t crowd her.” Clayton pulled him back. “Can’t you see she’s frightened?”
“She might be mad, Clayton.”
“I’m not crazy.” Emma licked full lips and took a deep breath. “Um, I’m just not sure where I am.”
Clayton smiled. “You’re in my carriage house.”
Irritation crossed her face as a quiet snort escaped between clenched teeth. “I think I should just call a cab and be on my way. If one of you could help me with that, I’d appreciate it. Let the cab company know I need to go to Portland.”
Andrew stepped forward. “Portland, ma’am?”
Clayton pulled him back again with a warning glare and then faced her again. “Portland’s quite a distance from here. Are you certain you need to go there?”
A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly. “Yes. My home is in Portland. I don’t know how I got over the bridge without knowing it, but if you could help me, I’ll be on my way.”
Andrew let out a quiet snort. “There’s no bridge to Portland—”
“Andrew,” Clayton hissed.
“Who are you people?” Emma whispered. “I need to go home.”
“Ma’am,” Clayton said gently. “Washington is several miles away from Maine, and without a bridge.”
Emma rubbed her forehead. “Maine? No, Oregon. I’m from Oregon. Just over the river from Washington. We are in Washington, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Washington D.C.”
Emma’s head whipped up. “What?”
Clayton watched fear cover her face and her attempt to hide it again. She began to inch away from the group and then bolted.
“Ma’am! Wait!” Clayton went after her, his heart in his throat. If she made it to Main Street, she’d run the risk of running into the crowded traffic. He caught her just as she reached the third row house, grabbed her around her waist, and pulled her up against him.
Emma screamed bloody murder.
“Shh, ma’am, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise,” he whispered gently in her ear, momentarily distracted by her incredible scent—peach, apricot, and sandalwood. Emma’s whimper brought him back to his senses. “Take a deep breath.”
* * *
Emma gasped in an effort to catch her breath. Her side cramped in protest from her frightened run and her feet were killing her.
I shouldn’t have worn these damn boots.
“Ma’am?”
I’m losing it. Why am I thinking about boots? I’m in the arms of a possible rapist and I’m thinking about boots? I’m insane.
She took a deep breath.
“Good. That’s better. Do you feel better?” He turned her to face him.
He sounds kind, not at all like a rapist. But, didn’t they always say that? He was such a quiet man. Nice to my cat. Shit, I’m losing my ever-blessed mind.
She nodded.
“All right,” he said gently. “Will you allow me to help you?”
There was something genuine about him, but her mind raced, and logic told her not to believe the kind words and sexy voice. Logic told her to run. She waited until he lowered his arms just enough and bolted again. This time in the opposite direction.
“Wait!” he hollered. “Come back here. I am not going to harm you.”
That’s what they all say.
She ran. Bile rose unbidden as she forced her feet forward, and although she was ready to throw up at any second, she pushed herself anyway. She saw his friend rush out into her path so she tried to zig when he zagged.
BAM!
She went down. Emma screamed as she tried to put her hands out to brace her fall, but her bag was heavy and awkward, and she landed on her chin despite her best efforts to catch herself. She dropped her bag and lost her glasses again, so she was now blind and in pain. Through her sobs of frustration, she saw the men jogging toward her.