“You know, I’m starting to wonder if the damn thing even exists.”

“The pocket-watch?” Payne asked.

Emma nodded, scooped up a handful of grain and let the strawberry roan nibble from her palm. Dubbed Cinnamon, Emma and the horse had become fast friends over the past couple of days.

Much like she and Payne, she thought, a soft smile curling her lips.

“I’ve wondered that myself,” he said. Looking oddly in his element, he was currently stroking the Lazarus, the dappled gray Harry had told them he’d saved from the slaughter house.

Ever since the bathroom incident, when Payne had told her to stop hiding from him, that it was insulting, Emma had given up trying to give him the slip. There’d been a desperate, almost vulnerable quality to his order that had made something in her heart stir and, while she firmly intended to get to the pocket-watch before him--even if it meant she had to wrestle him for it--she fully believed that he was a man of his word. He’d said whoever put their hand on it first, won. She mentally shrugged.

Simple enough.

It was a waste of both of their time to duplicate efforts and, since they’d combined forces over the past couple of days, they’d covered considerably more ground. They’d canvassed every antique and hole-in-the-wall shop in the area, had cross-reverenced the owners of said shops with the names on the list which had been provided by the auction house, thereby ruling out a few of those so-called leads.

Today they’d interviewed half a dozen people who’d bought watches from that auction and planned to talk to the others tomorrow. After that, they would have exhausted every lead and would either have to concede defeat--a prospect she didn’t even want to entertain--or start from scratch.

Emma knew from Norah that Payne had only booked himself into The Dove’s Nest through Friday night. A quick peek at his plane ticket last night when they’d stopped by his room for another condom had confirmed an early Saturday morning return flight to Atlanta. He’d turned his back to take a call and the ticket had been lying on the dresser in plain sight, so technically she hadn’t been snooping. She’d merely been curious.

At any rate, the same sick feeling she’d experienced when she’d discovered that little tidbit had returned every time she’d thought about it since. Even now her belly boiled with dread and angst, a miserable cocktail which could only mean guaranteed heartache when this week was over.

Though he hadn’t spent the whole night with her--a product of her none-to-gentle approach to waking him up and throwing him out the first time, she imagined--she and Payne had spent practically every minute together since. They’d fallen into a smooth rhythm of sex, meals, good conversation and searching for the pocket-watch, which had come so easily to them that it was downright eerie. And with every second spent in his company, Emma could feel herself losing ground down a slippery slope she had no business being on in the first place.

Bu Payne was...fascinating.

He was not just smart, but brilliant. Factor in his extreme sense of honor, that almost unshakable façade, his substantial sex appeal and a twisted sense of humor only a girl with an equally twisted sense of humor could appreciate and you had the recipe for the perfect man.

Or at least he would if he wanted to be any woman’s perfect man.

Which he clearly didn’t.

Emma knew that she got to him on a physical level. Aside from him routinely dragging her into bed--or the nearest bathroom as the case may be--she could tell that this “thing” they had was out of the realm of his experience, too. She couldn’t walk near him that he didn’t touch her--a brush of his fingers over the back of her neck, his hand at her elbow or his fingers tangled in hers.

Furthermore, given the odd little looks he gave her, she knew that something was at work in that practical mind of his. She got the impression that he didn’t know quite what to make of her, that he was trying to put her in a neat little category, but couldn’t find one that fit. She’d watched flashes of respect, admiration, desire and exasperation light up those cool wintry eyes and would be lying if she said they didn’t affect her. Emma let go a shuddering breath.

Brian Payne affected her on a molecular level.

She could feel him in her very blood, in her bones, knew instinctively when he was near. The mere sound of his voice made a thrill of warm joy bolt through her, one that made her throat go tight and her heart melt with ever-growing affection.

Was she in love with him? Not yet...but if she didn’t find that pocket-watch and get away from him soon, then no doubt she would be.

And no amount of self-preservation would save her.

Payne sidled closer to her, slung an arm around her shoulder, resulting in a smile. “Getting cold?” he asked.

Emma shook her head. “Not really. You throw off heat like a blast furnace, so I can always snuggle up next to you.”

“Why don’t we go back upstairs and you can snuggle on top of me?”

Emma chuckled as a dart of heat landed squarely in her womb. “I’m beginning to think you’re addicted to sex.”

“Funny,” he said, drawing her closer. “I’m beginning to think I’m addicted to you.”

Unexpected delight bloomed in her chest. She turned and smiled up at him. “I’m a hard habit to break,” she teased. “But no worries. Come Saturday you’ll get to quit me cold turkey.”

A flicker of something--regret, maybe?--danced in his eyes, but it was gone so fast Emma was inclined to believe that she’d imagined it. He quirked a brow. “What happens Saturday?”

She swallowed a disappointed sigh. “You go back to Atlanta. I saw your plane ticket,” she confessed. Not sheepishly, though. That wasn’t her style.

He inclined his head, continued to study her. “What about you? When are you going back?”

“I’ve got an open-ended ticket, but I imagine Hastings will call me home when you leave. I think he wanted to win the bet more than he wanted the pocket- watch.” She pulled a shrug, trying to appear unconcerned. “Once you exit the scene, the bet’s over.”

He gave her one of those long unreadable looks, the kind that made her feel like he was peering directly into her head. “Maybe we’ll find it before then,” he said, not offering to stay longer.

She hadn’t expected him to, of course. He had a life and a business to go back to--one that he evidently enjoyed. It wasn’t his fault that hers sucked and that she didn’t find herself equally anxious to return to Marble Springs. All she had waiting for her was more work for less pay and a longer sentence at the Hefty Hog.

Nevertheless, she’d banked ten grand which would take care of the taxes and catch up the mortgage. School would be a little longer in coming, but not as long as it would have been without Hastings’ errand, so she was more thankful than disappointed. Still, she thought, casting a wistful glance at Cinnamon and Lazarus, it would have been nice to jump right into school. Now that she’d finally figured out what she wanted to do, she couldn’t wait to get about the business of doing it.

“We’ve still got several people to see tomorrow,” Payne said, carefully studying her. “You know what they say. You always find what’s lost in the last place that you look.”

Emma couldn’t help it, she grinned. “Well, of course you do, you big nimrod,” she said. “Why the hell would you keep looking for something if you’d already found it?”

He smiled down at her, bent and kissed the end of her nose. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

“I prefer ‘adorable’ to ‘smart-ass’,” she told him, citing the name he’d been calling her last night.

His head tilted to a thoughtful angle. “Actually ‘adorable smart-ass’ fits perfectly.”

Better than being an un-adorable dumb-ass, she supposed. “We should probably head back up to the house,” she remarked. “Matthew will have dinner ready soon.”

Payne nodded. “Why don’t we get a movie from the library afterward?”

He wanted to watch a movie with her as opposed to having sex the instant they went back upstairs? Like a date? Emma thought as a balloon of happiness expanded in her chest. “Sure,” she said, unreasonably pleased.

He nodded, laced his fingers through hers and tugged her toward the house. “Any preferences?”

“I’m not picky,” she confessed. A thought occurred. She shot him a sidelong look and qualified her comment. “Just no porn.”

Payne’s deep chuckle sounded, vibrating off her spine, sending little tingles of pleasure curling through her. It was deep, sexy, intimate laugh, the kind between lovers. “No worries. I’m not into watching it as much as I’m into making it.”

 

*   *   *

 

“I’d love to get a peek at one of those ghosts, wouldn’t you?” Emma asked as they waited their turn to thank Judith and Matilda-the-cross-dressing pig for a night of ghost story hogwash, er, entertainment, Payne amended. Honestly, he fell strictly into the seeing-is-believing camp in this instance. Not that he didn’t have faith, but this... This was just too much.

Judith had spun several tales involving both Confederate and Union soldiers which had reportedly been spotted in and around The Dove’s Nest. Evidently the Inn had been used as a Confederate hospital after the battle of Gettysburg and, according to Harry and Norah, they’d both seen the ghost of who they believed was a Private Jeremy Pickens. Jeremy and his three younger brothers had all lost their lives at Pickett’s Charge and Jeremy still wandered the halls of The Dove’s Nest today, looking for his fallen brothers.

Payne couldn’t deny that he’d had a bit of a weird feeling when he and Emma had toured the battlefield today. He believed that too much death and destruction--thousands upon thousands of lives lost--had somehow imprinted its pain into the very ground. Fanciful? Maybe. But that kind of loss commanded respect--reverence--and as such, he and Emma had both appreciated the eerie silence as they’d walked through the battlefield. But ghosts? He supposed it was possible, but until he came face to face with one, he’d undoubtedly remain a skeptic. Payne frowned.

Just like he was skeptical that Robert E. Lee’s pocket-watch actually existed. Emma had made the comment a couple of days ago about that very thing and, knowing what finding it had meant to her, he’d kept his own council.

But after almost a week-long search with no luck and no possibility of luck, Payne grimly suspected that the pocket-watch tale was simply that, much like the folklore and ghost-stories they’d heard here tonight.

Though she’d kept a stiff upper lip this afternoon when they’d left the house of their last possible lead, Payne knew that she’d been privately disappointed. Her slim shoulders had rounded with an uncharacteristic defeat and she’d stared out the window, watching the passing landscape, lost in her own thoughts. Given the resigned look on her face, they hadn’t been happy ones.

For whatever reason, that look had been practically unbearable--gut-wrenching--and he’d been hit with the almost inexplicable urge to make things right for her. To help her. He’d considered offering her a job, hell giving her the money himself--an indication that he had lost any grasp on his former reality--but he knew that she wouldn’t be interested in either. Emma wanted to make her own way and anything that smacked of a hand-out would undoubtedly result in him getting smacked back. The thought drew a smile.

One way or another, though, he’d find a way to help her.

Unfortunately, time had run out in this instance and his legendary brain had yet to produce an answer to his very immediate problem.

Payne supposed he could change his ticket and stay for the rest of the weekend, but after careful thought--and no small amount of cowardice--he’d decided that he needed to leave in the morning, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that he could. Every instinct and impulse tugged at him to stay--to be with her--but old fears and resolutions had reared their ugly head, polluting his thinking and the idea that Emma could influence him beyond good sense did more than simply alarm him--it terrified him.

He needed some distance to pull his thoughts together, to come up with a new way to help her, and for whatever reason, it had become imperative that he do that at home. Did he care about her? Payne’s throat clogged with some nebulous obstruction and he swallowed a bark of dry laughter.

More than he ever dreamed possible.

More than he wanted to.

More than he would admit.

But he would not become a slave to emotion any more than he would allow her to lead him around like a bear with a ring in its nose. He would not--no matter how much he cared about her--allow her to make a fool of him.

He would not be like his father.

“Judith, that was fantastic,” Emma said. “Very entertaining.”

At last, Payne thought with a silent sigh. Their turn. Then they could go up to bed and get about a proper last night together. One that involved naked skin, hot sighs, hotter sex and bone-tingling orgasms.

Judith smiled warmly. “I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself, dear.”

Her lips curled in a wobbly grin, Emma gestured toward Matilda. “Er...what’s with the tuxedo and top hat?”

Judith rolled her eyes. “Gender identity crisis,” she said in a stage whisper, as though the pig could hear or understand her. “Doc Newton assures me this is just a phase, but I can’t do anything with her. She refuses to wear any of the new dresses I’ve made for her and pitched a snorting fit when I tried to put a necklace around her neck.” She cast an exasperated glance at Matilda. “Ornery Hog.”

Emma pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle and Payne had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something completely inappropriate. Like, “She’s a pig! What the hell are you doing putting clothes on her in the first place?”

Payne’s gaze dropped to Matilda and he barely smothered a snort. Top hat, tuxedo complete with a red satin cummerbund. And Matilda might have balked at wearing a necklace, but that hadn’t stopped Judith from attaching a pocket-watch to the hog’s chest.

...a pocket-watch to the hog’s chest.

Payne stilled and every sense went on point. No, he thought, staring at the gold watch glinting from the front of the tuxedo. It couldn’t be. Not after everything they had been through this week. It was too simple. Too much. What sort of twist of fate would put Robert E. Lee’s father’s time-piece on a spoiled cross-dressing pot-bellied pig? It was unfathom--

Emma tugged at his hand. “You ready?”

Payne’s gaze swung to hers and he forced himself into lock-down mode. “Actually, I wanted a minute with Matthew. You wanna go on up and I’ll meet you?” Payne knew she would assume that he wanted to compliment the cook--he’d been making a point to do that after each meal--and, at the moment, he was content to let her think that.

Emma nodded. “Sure. I’ll see you in a few minutes then.”

He waited until Emma mounted the stairs, then quickly turned to Judith. “That’s a nice pocket-watch Matilda’s wearing,” he remarked casually. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, that old piece of junk?” Judith laughed. “I got it from an estate sale a few months ago.”

Anticipation spiked as the implication of what she’d just said sunk in. Granted Judith’s name hadn’t been on either one of their lists, but Garrett had said it had been a ship-shod job. It could have easily happened. “Do you mind if I take a look at it?” Payne asked.

Judith shrugged. “Sure. Suit yourself.” She bent down and retrieved the watch from Matilda’s chest, then handed it to Payne.

Though his blood was brimming with adrenaline, Payne’s hands were steady, his face impassive as he inspected the time-piece. He studied the front, knew from the brand it was the right time period, then casually turned it over, looking for the inscription.

And there it was--Lighthorse.

He chuckled softly and shook his head. Well, I’ll be damned, he thought. After everything they had been through the past week over this damned watch, it had been added to the wardrobe of a pig the entire time. He was certain that stranger things had happened, but he sure as hell couldn’t think of anything at the moment.

“If you like it, you can keep it,” Judith said. “Matilda has plenty of other accessories.”

“Let me pay you for it,” Payne told her, uncomfortable with the gift.

“No, no,” Judith insisted. She closed his fingers around it and squeezed. “Consider it a keepsake from your time here at The Dove’s Nest.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate it.” More than you will ever know, he silently added.

He slipped the watch into his pants pocket, vastly relieved that Emma wouldn’t go home empty-handed. He couldn’t give it to her of course--she’d never accept it--but instead would have to set the stage for her to find it herself. This would mean enlisting help--Norah, the romantic, he decided, knowing that this would be right up her alley--and staying for one more day. Once Emma put her hand on it first--translate, beat him, the competitive little wench--then he could make her a better offer. She’d take it, because she was smart and needed the money, and then he could hand it over to Garrett.

End of favor.

Debt paid.

Payne expelled a heavy breath. It was a round-about, convoluted ridiculous way to meet his ends, particularly when he’d just pocketed the freedom he’d been desperately seeking for the past several months, but knowing how much Emma needed it as well... Payne just couldn’t do it.

The last thing he ever expected to do was help a woman with money problems--after all, that very type of woman had been the bane of his father’s existence--but then again, he’d never met a more hard-working determined woman like Emma Langsford, either.

She was...it.

The profoundness of that thought made him pause right outside her door and he grew completely still, momentarily unable to move. He waited for a clap of thunder to rent the heavens, a bolt of lightening--anything that would announce the gravity of what he’d just realized--but, strangely, nothing happened. Instead a quiet peace stole over him, followed by a slow dawning smile.

Then he opened her door and walked into heaven.