Overprotective Cowboy - Elana Johnson Page 0,30
he’d seen it. He’d seen it and remembered her, all of these years later.
“Emma?” Ginger asked.
“What did Ted tell you?” she asked.
“He told me about a blue truck,” Ginger said. “And some guy who’s been hanging around the homestead, and that you guys looked up who the truck belonged to.”
Emma nodded, but she didn’t volunteer anything.
“He said he thought you probably knew the guy, and that you’re afraid of him,” Ginger said. “And we want to help you.” A beep came over the line, and Ginger’s voice was less echoy when she said, “It’s just me, Em. No one else is listening, and I just want you to know that no matter what it is, we’re here for you.”
“I know that,” Emma said, her tears welling up again. She had not let them fall in all the time she’d been driving.
“Ted is ultra-concerned about you. He said he can’t help it, and Nate explained that he was a lawyer, and very used to working with victims, being their advocate, and getting justice for them.”
Emma nodded, though Ginger couldn’t see her. She had the very real feeling that Ted wouldn’t fight for her if he knew what she’d done.
In this case, she’d stolen something from Robert Knight. He was the victim, not her.
“I need a couple of days,” Emma finally said, her voice high-pitched and filled with emotion. “I’m sorry, Ginger. I know you’re already behind on so many things. Could you take care of my foals for me? Just for a couple of days.” She was supposed to be off this weekend anyway, and maybe she could take the next five days and find her center.
Recommit to what she needed to do.
Something.
“Ted said he’d do it,” Ginger said. “It’s no problem. Please stay in touch, though. I’m really worried about you.”
“I know,” Emma said. “Love you, Ginger.”
“I love you, Emma.”
“We love you,” everyone chorused, and Emma hung up and finally let her tears fall
Chapter Nine
Ted held the bottle for Second Best, his thoughts as far from baby horses as they could be. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Emma, and when Ginger had texted him to say that she’d spoken to Emma and she was okay for now, Ted’s relief had been instant and hot.
It had cooled quickly, because he knew Emma was not okay. He’d worked with plenty of people like her in his six years practicing law, and while she was very, very good at hiding how she really felt, when it came out, it gushed from her.
He’d felt her fear, experienced her anxiety as his own, and seen her run away, her flight instinct the only thing driving her.
He wondered where she’d gone, and how long she’d be away from the ranch. Hope Eternal didn’t feel as hopeful or as peaceful without her there, and that made no sense to him. When he’d talked to Nate in private, his best friend had suggested that Ted’s hormones might be a little out of sorts, since he hadn’t really interacted with a beautiful woman in a very long time.
Ted had considered it; conceded it. That could be true. He’d said, “I still know she needs help, Nate. Who better to help her but me?”
He wanted to be helpful and useful. He had to be. Otherwise, what was the point of his life? Why had he experienced what he had? Gone through what he’d endured?
“Please, God,” he whispered, and Second Best finished up his milk. “Good boy, bud,” he said to the horse. He did love the horses, and the babies had a special spirit about them.
He didn’t mind the extra work, especially if it would help someone who desperately needed it. When he finished in the stable, he cleaned up the bottles so he’d leave them the way he found them, and he headed back to the Annex.
Chocolate scented the air as he crossed the deck, and he found Connor and Spencer in the kitchen, spreading frosting over a cake. “Oh, boy,” Ted said, shutting the door quickly to keep the hot evening air out. “What have we got going on here?”
They did not serve cake in prison, and Ted couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten it. Oh, wait, yes he could. That day at his office party. That cake had been disgusting, with that slimy shortening frosting they used at the grocery store.
The light brown frosting Connor had on his knife, his knuckles, and his face looked so much better. “Cake, Uncle Ted,” he said.