Lori Foster - ThE BUCKHORN LEGACY

“Well, I thought I recognized that voice,” Emma said, proud that only a slight waver sounded in her words. “Hello, Casey.”

Damon twisted around to face her, and Casey’s head jerked up in surprise. Emma held herself still while the woman with Casey scooted closer to him, blatantly staking a claim.

Caught between the headlights of both cars, they all stood there. The damp August-evening air drifted over and around them, stirring the leaves and the tension. Moths fluttered into the light and wispy fog hung near the ground, snaking around their feet. Emma heard the chirp of every cricket, the creaking of heavy branches, her own stilted breath.

His body rigid, his thoughts concealed, Casey stared toward Emma. In the darkness, his eyes appeared black as pitch, intensely direct. He explored her face in minute detail, taking his time while Emma did her best not to fidget.

The silence stretched out, painful and taut, until Emma didn’t know if she could take it anymore.

Finally, he took a step forward. “Emma?”

Like a warm caress, his familiar deep voice slipped over and around her. He said her name as a question, filled with wonder, surprise, maybe even pleasure. At eighteen, he’d seemed so grown up, but now that he was grown, he could take her breath away.

Her smile felt silly, uncertain. She made an awkward gesture, and shrugged. “That’d be me.”

“My God, I’d never have recognized you.” He strode forward as if he might embrace her, and Emma automatically drew back. She didn’t mean to do it, and she silently cursed herself for the knee-jerk reaction to seeing him again. His physical presence, once so comforting, now seemed as powerful, as dark and turbulent, as a storm. The changes were subtle, but she’d known him so well, been so fixated on him, that they were glaringly obvious to her.

At her retreat, Casey drew to a halt. His smile faltered then became cynical, matching the light in his eyes. He veered his gaze toward Damon, and Emma knew he’d drawn his own conclusions.

When he faced her again, his expression had turned icy. “I’m surprised to see you here, Em.”

“My father…he’s in the hospital.” She hated herself for stammering, but when she’d thought Casey might touch her, her heart, her pulse, even her thoughts had sped up, leaving her a little jumbled. No, no, no, she silently swore, wanting to deny the truth. Surely, eight years was long enough. It had to be.

But right now, with Casey so close she could feel the beat of his energy and the strength of his presence, it felt as if less than eight days had passed. Long-buried emotions clamored to the surface, and Emma struggled to repress them again.

Oh, it wasn’t that she still pined for Casey, or that she carried any fanciful illusions. The time away had been an eternity for her. She’d gone from being an immature, needy girl to a grown, independent woman. She’d learned so much, faced so many realities, and she now considered herself a person to be proud of.

But seeing him, being back in Buckhorn…well, some memories never died and her last ones with Casey were the type that haunted her dreams. She could still blush, remembering that awful night and what she’d put him and his family through. Like old garbage, her father had dumped her on Casey’s doorstep—and he’d taken her in.

That wasn’t the only thing that made her hot with embarrassment, though. The nights that preceded her eventful departure were worse. She’d thrown herself at Casey again and again, utilizing every female ploy to entice him—and had always been rebuffed. The strongest emotion he’d ever felt for her was pity.

And now he had no reason to feel even that.

“I’d heard your dad was sick. Will he be all right?”

It didn’t surprise her that he knew. There were few secrets in Buckhorn, so of course he’d heard.

Renewed worry prodded her, sounding in her tone. “He was asleep when I stopped at the hospital earlier, and I didn’t want to disturb him. He needs his rest. But the nurse assures me that he’s doing better. They have him out of intensive care, so I guess that’s a good sign. I just…I wish I could have talked with him.”

“What happened?”

She swallowed hard, still disbelieving how quickly things had changed. The call from her mother had rattled her and she hadn’t quite gotten a grip on her emotions yet. She hadn’t seen her father in so long, but she’d always known he was there, as cantankerous and hardworking as ever. But now… Emma stared up at Casey and felt the connection of a past lifetime. “He had a stroke.”

“Damn, Em. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

She nodded.

Casey shifted closer, scrutinizing her as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. His expression was so probing, she felt stripped bare and strangely raw.

When Casey moved forward, so did the very pretty redhead with him. She plastered herself to his side in a show of possessiveness. “You two have met?”

Casey glanced at her, then draped his arm over her shoulders with negligent regard. There didn’t seem to be any real level of intimacy between them.

But then what did Emma know about real intimacy?

“Emma and I practically grew up together.” Casey watched her as he said it, his eyes narrowed, taunting. “We were close, real close I thought, but she’s been away from town now for…”

“Eight years,” Emma supplied, unwilling to hear him say any more. Close? The only closeness had been in her head and in her dreams. Dredging up her manners, Emma held out her hand and prayed the darkness would hide her slight trembling. “I’m Emma Clark, and this is my friend, Damon Devaughn.”

With a look of suspicion, the redhead released Casey to shake hands politely with both Emma and Damon. “Kristin Swarth.”

“It’s delightful to meet you,” Damon murmured, and Kristin’s frown lifted to be replaced by a coy smile. Damon had charisma in spades and the ladies always soaked it up.

Though Damon had no problem warming up to Kristin, he didn’t treat Casey with the same courtesy. The second she’d first said Casey’s name, Damon had gone rigid and he hadn’t relaxed again.

Now, at the introduction, Casey eyed Damon anew, then drew the woman a little closer. “Kristin and I work together.”

It wasn’t easy, but Emma managed another smile. “I hope we’re not interrupting your plans?”

“Not really.” Casey gave her a lazy look. “I was just about to take Kristin home.”

At the word home, B.B. let out a friendly woof, and Emma laughed. “I’m sorry, I almost forgot. This is my pal, B.B.”

With a wide grin, Casey hunkered down in front of the big dog. “Hello, B.B.”

Using noticeable caution, the dog sauntered forward, did some sniffing, and then licked Casey’s hand. Emma had almost forgotten how good Casey’s family was with animals, Casey included. His Uncle Jordan was even a vet, but they all loved animals and were never without a menagerie of pets.

“Where’d you come up with the name B.B.?”

Emma chuckled, her tension easing with the topic. B.B. was her best friend, her comrade in arms when necessary, her confidant. They’d comforted each other when there was no one else, and now it often seemed B.B. could read her mind. “Big Boy,” she explained, and B.B. barked in agreement.

“He’s a gorgeous dog.” Casey stroked along B.B.’s muscled back, then patted his ribs. “How old is he?”

Damon answered for her, his gaze speculative as he watched man and dog bonding. “We’re not sure, but probably about nine or so. He was young when Emma got him, more a ball of fur with nothing big about him, other than his appetite.”

Emma quickly elbowed Damon, hard. A history of how she’d gotten the dog was the last thing she wanted discussed. She didn’t mean for Casey to witness that prod, but when she glanced down at him, their gazes clashed and held. He didn’t say anything, and that was a relief. When she got Damon alone, she’d choke him.