excavated the site of the cabins and surveyed the cemetery. They even let me use one of the steel probes to locate a burial spot,” he said.
“I didn’t know that. The research I read said they found forty-three graves in the slave cemetery, but from the oral history I’ve researched, I believe there are more. I want to find them, make sure no one is overlooked.”
She stopped by her truck, color highlighting her cheeks.
“You’re excited about this,” he said.
“You bet.” A self-conscious smile tugged at her lips. “I finally get to put my American history and anthropology classes to good use.”
“Sounds like it’ll be interesting. Would you like help? Like when I’m not patrolling?” What was he saying? Had he lost his mind? Sam needed to put distance between them, not manufacture a reason to be around Emma.
“You’d do that?”
He couldn’t think of a way to backtrack. “I don’t want you at Mount Locust alone, at least not until we know more about the shooting and now the flowers.”
“I’ll take any help I can get.”
He opened her truck door. “I have an appointment at Rocky Springs later this morning and will have to leave around eleven,” he said. Something he could comfortably do since Nate would still be on site investigating the shooting. “I’ll be back by one or two to help.”
“Thanks. You do know it’ll be hard work,” she said dryly.
“Evidently you don’t think I’m up to it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you meant. I’ll help this afternoon, and since tomorrow is Saturday and I’m off duty, I’ll help again.”
“You’re on,” she said and slid behind the wheel of her pickup. “See you this afternoon.”
“Actually, you’ll probably see me all morning. The investigation, remember?”
Emma’s face turned somber. “Oh yeah, that.”
He glanced over the white pickup. “Is this Ryan’s old—”
“It was my dad’s,” she said sharply and pushed in the clutch as she turned the key. “Ryan just drove it until he got the Mustang.”
“You’ve taken good care of it.” He seemed to put his foot in his mouth every time he turned around. She pulled away from the curb while he hurried to his SUV. He hadn’t planned to offer his services and was just as surprised as she was when the words came out of his mouth. But it was his responsibility to guard the Trace and anyone on it who might be in danger. And Emma definitely needed someone to watch over her.
Although it would be extremely difficult for them to see through his darkly tinted side windows, he ducked down as the two vehicles passed his parked car.
What was the ranger doing at her apartment? And why was he following her? Jealousy stabbed his heart, and he quickly brushed it away. When Sam Ryker had retrieved a box from his SUV, he’d used binoculars to see what it was. A fingerprint kit. She must have told him about the flowers, but didn’t she understand they were from him?
He removed the windshield sun screen and cranked the car. Emma hadn’t posted her message to him on Facebook yet. That was unlike her. Maybe it was because of the ranger . . . he certainly seemed familiar with her, holding her arm, helping her down the steps. Was the ranger going to be a problem? That bore thinking about.
He shifted his thoughts back to Emma and the flowers. Did she get the meaning of the nine daisies? Forever mine.
He remembered when they’d bumped into each other, the way her hand had lingered on his arm even as she talked about being friends. She was testing him. Her smile sent a different message, one that said she loved him but they couldn’t be together just yet. He was willing to wait.
For a while.
After waiting outside Walmart for Emma to pick up a bag of cat food, Sam followed her to the Trace, then through the gate to the visitor center at Mount Locust. Once she got out, he circled back toward the maintenance building and parked beside the sheriff’s SUV. Nate Rawlings walked toward him from the woods. “What’ve you found?” Sam asked.
“Someone hot-wired the backhoe, and the hole is bigger than I thought it was,” Nate said. “I’ll show you.”
Sam followed him through the woods and saw the yellow backhoe long before they reached it. Beside it was a mound of dirt. He stopped at the edge of a hole. His chest tightened. A few feet deeper, and it could pass for a shallow grave. “Did your