Emma

I wasn’t expecting him to ask me out. I don’t think that he thinks of me as more than anything but a friend… So when he asks, it throws me for a loop and my brain needs a second to fully process the question. 

“I’d like that,” I say after a slight pause.

“You would?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Good.” He looks pleased. “Then I’ll make a reservation.” 

Never in the twenty or so years that I’ve been dating has a man taken me somewhere that took reservations. The nicest place Deacon ever took me was the Cheesecake Factory.

“A reservation?” I smile, wondering where he could even do that way out here.  We’d probably have to drive to Morgantown or something… But I don’t think I’ll mind.

“I like to make a fuss,” he says softly. He comes back to the couch and sits a little closer to me, though you could still fit another person between us. I suddenly feel a little shy.  I’ve had a crush on Marcus practically since Old Sheriff Roy brought him into the cafe for lunch when he was interviewing for the sheriff’s position.

Despite our almost daily interactions, I still don’t know much about him, and I feel myself blurt out:

“What did you do in the FBI?”

He looks surprised.

“I investigated art crimes.  I was the director of my division before I retired.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s… I can’t even imagine how exciting that must have been.”

“Not as exciting as you might think.  It was mostly a lot of paperwork.  Art crime is mostly forgery, occasionally a stolen painting, but it’s not like what you see on TV,” he says.  “I think I may have drawn my weapon a grand total of five times in almost twenty years.”

“How old are you?” I ask, wondering if my assessment of forty-five is close.

“Forty-four, forty-five in April,” he says. “How about you?”

“Thirty-four. Thirty-five later this month.”

“Well, happy early birthday,” he says with a grin, flashing his dimples at me again.

“Thanks. Why’d you retire from the FBI?”

He purses his lips slightly.

“You’re full of questions all of the sudden.”

“I’ve always been full of them… I just… Wasn’t sure if it’s okay to ask.”

“It’s okay to ask, but I have questions of my own.”

“It’s okay to ask,” I echo his words.  He smiles at me again.

“I retired… Well, there was a case… I didn’t have to take it, but I thought it would be an easy win… Undercover, trying to catch someone forging ownership documents of stolen art… Things went south, and I got shot.”

“You got shot?”

“Just a little bit,” he says, and he leans back on the couch, pulling his shirt up slightly.  I can see an ugly scar along his abdomen, and I try not to let my gaze linger at the light definition of his abs. “Anyway, I was relegated to desk duty, and I knew I was going to be bored, so I opted for an early retirement.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say.

“It was a few years ago.  I’m fine now.  First couple of months were rough,” he says.  He sits back up, pulling his shirt back into place. “How long have you been on your own here?”

“My dad died about 7 years back, and my mother died when I was a kid,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say sadly.

“Did you grow up in this house?”

“Yeah,” I say, and I point to the door frame going into the kitchen. A series of pencil marks detailing my growth over the years. He stands up and takes a look, bending down and tracing his fingers along the smudged door frame.

“It stops at 13,” Marcus says with a grin.

“Yeah, so did I,” I say softly. 

He chuckles again, and looks around the house again.

“You should probably ice your ankle,” he says after a beat.  “Sorry, I’m supposed to be certified in first aid, if you can believe it. Do you have an ice pack?”

“Frozen peas?” I say wryly.  “In the freezer.”  Marcus disappears into the kitchen and is back a few seconds later, wrapping a large bag of frozen peas in one of my dishtowels, and then gently placing it on my ankle.

“I see some swelling,” he says. “But it doesn’t look too bad, all things considered. We’ll keep it elevated, and you off it.  I don’t suppose you have an ace bandage laying around?”

I shake my head, and despite the ice pack on my ankle, I feel warmth radiating out through my body. 

“I…”  I pause, wondering if I should confess what I’m thinking.  He looks up at me, eyebrows slightly raised, and his big brown eyes full of so much kindness I could cry.  I clear my throat. “I’ve never had someone take care of me like this before,” I manage.

“What do you mean?”

“My mom and dad both worked when I was a kid, so if I was hurt or sick, I just…Took care of myself.  And after my mom passed, my dad was around even less…“ My voice trails off.  I’m sure he can imagine what kind of TLC Deacon offered. 

Marcus tilts his head to one side slightly, his expression unreadable.

“You deserve to be taken care of,” he says softly. “Cherished, even.”

“Do I?”  I say softly, letting my gaze drift down to his full lips, and then back up to meet his eyes.

“Yes,” he says in that deep, husky voice that sends a slight jolt through my body. He sits back down on the couch, right next to me this time and looks into my eyes for a long moment. “You’re very special, Emma, and anyone lucky enough to be with you should cherish you, and take care of you.”

“Take care of me how?”

“However you want to be taken care of.  But maybe… Bring you soup when you’re sick, take your truck in for an oil change, carry you around the house when you’ve got a busted ankle.” His eyes twinkle.

“Does that mean you want to be with me?” I ask, feeling my breath catch in my throat.

“I thought that was obvious,” he says.  “I’ve had to up my workouts every day to keep off all the weight from eating at the cafe so much. I just like being around you. I think you’re a hell of a good looking woman… And just a hell of a woman.”

I feel my cheeks heat slightly.

“Then why’d you wait so long?”  I say, letting out a breath.

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” I say good naturedly.  He lets out a light huff of laughter.

“No, I suppose not,”  he looks at the time. “It’s getting late, you must be getting hungry.”

“Are you?”

“I’m always hungry,” he says good naturedly. I start to get up, but he shakes his head. “Emma, I meant it when I said you need to rest that ankle.  Let me take care of you. I can make us something to eat.”

“It’s fine, I can-”

“Emma, I’m serious… You could hurt it worse if you don’t rest.  Don’t make me handcuff you to the couch.”

“I might like it,” I blurt out.  Marcus’s cheeks flush slightly, and I can’t help but smile. “Sorry, I just… I don’t keep much food in the house,” I admit, and I feel my own cheeks flush to match his. “I normally bring home leftovers from the cafe.  It’s not much fun cooking for one.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees softly, looking at me with a tenderness that makes my heart pound in my chest.  He clears his throat. “I’m sure we can manage something, though.”

“I’ll at least come into the kitchen with you so you’re not flying blind.”  

I start to get up, but Marcus moves faster, scoping me up into his arms again.

“You’re going to throw your back out if you keep this up.”

“You’re not as heavy as you think you are,” he says, carefully maneuvering me into the kitchen.  He sets me down at the kitchen table gently and pulls the other chair over.  He carefully puts my leg on the seat. “I mean it, keep it elevated.”

“Yessir,” I say, giving him a mock salute. Mentally, I take stock of what’s in the fridge.  I have a pantry with dry goods, and some meat in the freezer, but not much in the way of vegetables, since they  tend to go bad before I can use them up. Marcus leans on my kitchen island, looking over at me.

“This is kind of surreal, me waiting on you for a change,” he says. “But I kinda like it. Though, I’m not anywhere near the cook you are.”

“I’m not that great.”

“Then how do you explain all those blue ribbons hanging up at the cafe?  “Best Pie in West Virginia”, I think one of them says,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice.

“Baking and cooking are two different things.”

“Emma, if you weren’t a good cook… Well, I’d still probably come to the cafe for breakfast, but you are a good cook.”

“Thanks,” I say softly.  I clear my throat again. “I think there’s still some leftover chili in the fridge,” I say.  “And I think I still have some bread from last week’s batch.”

“Coming right up,” Marcus says. He works quickly, though I tell him where to find the bowls and cutlery. He heats up the chili on the stove and then a few minutes later, sets a bowl in front of me before sliding across from me with his own.

“So, tell me the long story.”

“Hmm?”

“You said the reason you waited so long to ask me out was a long story.”

“Well, you know I’m divorced,” he says, taking a sip of water. I nod, taking a bite of chili.  It’s a good meal for this weather, and I’m glad I brought it home. “After I got divorced, I dated a few women, but nothing really stuck… Then right before I was offered the position that brought me to DC, I was seeing a woman that also worked for the bureau.  Time and space led me to the conclusion that she was just in the right place at the right time, and not actually the love of my life, but I wanted to settle down again with her… Obviously, It didn’t work out, and since then… I guess I was just afraid of making the same mistake again, and I needed to sort out my feelings.”  He takes a deep breath. “I had to decide if it was a crush, or the genuine article… and by the time I sorted it out, I’d gotten to know you just enough to think that maybe you wouldn’t be interested in a guy like me.”

I look at him in confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I be interested?”

“I didn’t know much about your ex husband, but I knew he used to play baseball, and I know how those guys are built.  And I know traveling must have been exciting.  What could you want with a scrawny, boring old homebody like me?”

“You’re hardly boring,” I say. “And just because Deacon was a baseball player, doesn’t mean that’s the only kind of guy I like.”  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I wish I’d met him first, but I can’t make myself say it. “I happen to like staying home, anyway.”

“Yeah? You don’t want some guy who takes you all over? Jet setting?”

“It was hardly jet setting.  Seedy motels, vending machine junk for dinner, a bunch of sweaty guys obsessed with the gym and practice. No… That isn’t the life for me.”

For a moment, we eat in silence, with the sound of the storm raging outside.  The lights flicker again, but the power stays on.  When I finish my chili, Marcus does the dishes and then helps me back to the living room. He pulls the blanket off the couch and tucks it around me before sitting next to me.

“It’s kinda wild how different the weather is here than in DC.  It snows there, but not like this, not really.”

“Mountain life,” I say with a smile. There’s a slight pause before he speaks again.

“I uh… I have a tendency to move kind of fast,” Marcus says. “In relationships, I mean.  So if… If I start going a hundred miles an hour, tell me to pump the breaks.  Like, I know I probably shouldn’t even call it a relationship yet.  We haven’t even had the date. I just… I’m not a kid, and I know what I want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, but I don’t think I have a problem with you calling it a relationship.  I like you, Marcus.”

“Good, because I like you, too.”

“Good,” I echo, feeling warmth spreading across my face.  Marcus’s smile widens, his eyes lighting up and his dimples on display again.  My mind is racing. 

He’s here, in my house. He’s staying the night. HE’S STAYING THE NIGHT!

“You don’t have anything to sleep in,” I blurt out, wishing like hell I could stop doing this, that I could be one of those cool girls that tosses her hair over her shoulder and smiles as she says something witty, not a verbally incontinent klutz.

“I don’t need anything,” he says, but then he blushes slightly. “I mean, I can sleep in my clothes. I do wish I had my toothbrush, though.”

“Well,” I say. “I bought a five pack of toothbrushes a while back, and so I have a brand new one you can use.  I still have some of my dad’s things, too.”

“I won’t say no to the toothbrush, but I’m fine on the clothes, Emma,” he says, but I can’t imagine the standard issue sheriff’s uniform would be comfortable to sleep in. “I don’t want to  be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” I say, and I start to get up, but Marcus gives me a warning look.

“Emma, if you don’t stay off that ankle-”

“I know, I know, handcuffs,” I say playfully. “Look, I feel bad that you’re stuck here because of me, and I just want you to be comfortable, okay?  This is an old house and the upstairs gets pretty cold at night.  Your uniform doesn’t look like it’s very comfortable or warm.”

“I’m not stuck here, Emma.” Marcus looks at me intently. “I wouldn’t wish for you to sprain your ankle in a hundred years, but I’m very glad I get to spend the evening with you.”

I feel my cheeks redden further.

“You are?”

“Yes, silly girl, I told you: I like you.”

I smile, biting my bottom lip to keep from letting an unhinged giggle escape my mouth.

“Well, then humor me and accept the offering of something warmer and hopefully more comfortable to sleep in,” I say after a beat. 

“All right, all right,” he says softly, holding his hands up again, but his thousand megawatt smile eclipses everything else.

Outside, the storm rages on, and another gust of wind shakes the house.

“There’s going to be some felled trees after this, I’m sure,” I hear myself saying. “It’s going to take a few days for things to operate as normal.”

“Yeah,” Marcus says, his voice taking on that low, husky tone again.  A shiver runs down my spine.  “Are you cold?”  He asks, and in a flash, he’s on his feet, grabbing another blanket from the loveseat.

“I’m okay,” I say, smiling as he tucks the blanket around my legs. We stare into one another’s eyes for a long moment, and yet again, my mouth moves without input from my brain. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

I need something to distract myself from Marcus… But as I watch him settle back onto the couch next to me, I realize that Marcus has been distracting me from what’s really bothering me:  May Anne.  I wish she would call me.  She has to know that no matter what she’s up to, what trouble she’s gotten into, I’ll help her.  Something must be terribly wrong, and there’s nothing I can do.

“Emma?” Marcus says, pulling me from my thoughts. “You okay?”

”Yeah…I’m just… I’m trying not to worry about May Anne. I’m trying to believe she’s just off with some boy.”

“I understand why you’re worried, but she’ll turn up tomorrow, sheepish as hell, just you wait.”

“I want to believe that,” I say honestly. “I do, but it’s just… It would be like… Like… “ The notion is so absurd I have trouble thinking of a comparison. “Like a nun suddenly turning tricks in Times Square.”

Marcus laughs, a belly laugh that makes him light up like a Christmas tree.  He reigns himself in and looks embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make light of things, I’m sorry,” he repeats..

“No, I sort of meant for it to be funny… I kind of have a whole ‘If I Don’t Laugh I’ll Cry’ mindset.”

“Nothing wrong with crying.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but too much crying…” I say.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus says softly.

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

“I know that; it’s empathy.”

I feel myself go quiet again, unsure of what to say.

“What makes you cry?” he asks softly.

“What doesn’t make me cry?” I chuckle.  “Sad movies, happy movies, really good music… “ I deflect, but Marcus holds my gaze. He wants the truth. “My marriage falling apart and… becoming what it became… Not being able to share my achievements with my parents… Especially my mom.”

“That’s really rough,” he says. “I know I didn’t know your parents, but I think they would have been really proud of you.”  His voice takes on that deep husky tone again, the one that sends a shiver through my body.

“Divorced, alone, living in the same house she grew up in?”

“You had the courage to leave that marriage. You opened your cafe, and you’re doing well by any standard, but especially by Culver Creek Standard, and you have your farm, your family legacy.  I think those are all pretty special things.”

“Do you always know just what to say?”

“Not always,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I fumble the ball just like any other guy.”

“Thank you,” I say after a minute. 

“You’re welcome,” he whispers.  “Do you still want to watch a movie?  

I nod as I grab the remote from the side table.  I fumble with the buttons in the dimness of the living room, the sun has finally set, and the small lamp by the front door doesn’t offer much light. I  flip through the channels, looking for something to watch.

“Oh hey, Under Capricorn,” he says, placing a hand on my elbow. “If you haven’t seen it, it’s a classic.”

“I haven’t seen it.  Is that Ingrid Bergman?” I point to a woman on screen. 

“Yeah, and directed by Hitcock.”

“Like Psycho Hitchcock?”

“One in the same.”

“Then I’m game,” I say.  Marcus settles back on the couch, and a few minutes later, I feel his arm slide around my shoulder.  I don’t mind at all, in fact, I’ve fantasized about a scenario just like this once or twice… Of course, it leads to a heavy makeout session in those fantasies, but I would take it all the same. I slide back into distraction from the anxiety, the worry, the fear.

Marcus is warm; the heat radiating off of his body makes for a cozy evening.  The wind continues blowing outside, and if I were home by myself, I would probably feel anxious, but cuddled up next to Marcus, I can’t think of anything except how good he smells, how warm and comfortable he is, and how badly I want to kiss him.

I’m lost in thought when another powerful gust of wind slams against the house and makes me jump.

“You’re all right,” Marcus says soothingly. “I’m here.”  He hugs me closer to him and I look up at his face.  His big brown eyes meet mine and after a moment’s hesitation, he lifts his other arm, cupping my face in his hand.  He strokes my cheek with his thumb, gazing down at me.  “You’re all right,” he says again.

I don’t know what to say in response.  I go on staring into his eyes for a long moment.  Finally, he bends his head slightly, tilting toward me and places a gentle kiss on my lips. He starts to pull away, but I put my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me. 

I feel weightless in his arms as he pushes me carefully back against the couch.  He gently climbs on top of me as my fantasies come to life.  We entwine around each other, kissing hungrily.  I don’t care if it makes me a floozy, a hussy, a strumpet… Maybe in the morning I’ll care that he thinks I’m easy, but right now, all I want is to pull his shirt over his head and bite his shoulders.

I restrain myself – barely- and try to remain content with the status quo. I missed the weight of a man on top of me – I’ve had precious little carnal knowledge in the last year or so, but even if I was getting laid well and often, I would still relish the feeling of Marcus’s lips against mine, the feeling of his body on top of me. My ankle is throbbing but I don’t care – Marcus Pike is kissing me.

Marcus

When I kiss Emma, I think it’s going to be a tender peck, a prelude to a deep conversation, but instead, she puts her arms around my neck and pulls me closer to her, and all those feelings both of us have been keeping buried these last few months bubble up to the surface.  Before I know what I’m doing, I’m pushing her back against the couch and climbing on top of her, careful not to jostle her ankle.  I kiss her for a very long time, until my higher brain function kicks in and I pull away from her, breathless.

“Sorry, I don’t want to stop but…” I pant. “I think we should.”

Emma raises an eyebrow at me.

“I just… I have a tendency to rush things and I mean it– I like you, and I want to do this right…”  I sit back against the couch as Emma shifts gingerly, the blankets I put over her tangled around her legs. The dim light of the TV illuminates her profile, washing her in blue gray light.  She gazes at me for a moment.

“How long have you been single?” she asks after a moment. My brows knit together in confusion, but I answer her.

“About a year, but that relationship wasn’t serious.”  I sigh, leaning forward and rubbing my face with my hands. “I’ve… avoided getting serious.”

“Because of your ex fiancee?”

“Yes,” I say. Emma doesn’t say anything, and I don’t want to say anything, because I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing. 

“And do you think you want to get serious with me?” she whispers after a moment.

“I do,” I say, and there’s another long silence that has me leaning my head back against the wall.  I close my eyes, wondering if that was somehow wrong to say.  Maybe Emma’s not looking for anything serious.  Maybe she just wanted to get over Deacon by getting under someone else.  I could relate to that.. I slept with a half dozen women to get over Theresa .Finally, I feel Emma’s warmth cuddling up against me, nestling into the crook of my arm, against my side. Almost instinctively I put my arm around her, pulling her closer to me.

“I do, too,” she says softly. We sit there for a long time, holding one another as the credits of the movie roll by.

“It’s getting late,” I say to her. “You must be tired.”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” she says, and I worry for a moment that the reason is somehow because of me. “I’m too worried about May Anne.  I know you think she’s just another teenage girl but this isn’t like her.  May Anne would never worry me or her parents like this.”

I feel guilty. 

Of course she’s worried about May Anne, Jackass.

“I’ll call the state police.  They might have someone out doing patrols.”

“In this weather?” Emma asks incredulously.

“Police and fire have to work through any kind of weather.”  I’m loath to get up and leave Emma’s warmth, and even a few steps away from her, the air seems to cool ten degrees. My coat hangs by the front door. I fish my phone out of the pocket and call the state police barracks near the county line.

  “Hey, it’s Sheriff Pike down in Culver Creek,” I say when the dispatcher answers.

“How can I help?” they ask professionally

“If whoever is out and about in this can keep an eye out, we’ve got a missing teenager.”

“Name?”

“May Anne Collins,”

“Age?”

“Age?” I whisper to Emma.

“She Seventeen.  Her birthday’s January 1st.”

“Description?”

“Five foot four, approximately a hundred thirty pounds, dark brown brown hair,brown eyes.” I rattle off the description.  I can picture the girl in my mind, bright eyes and a wide grin as she helps Emma in the kitchen.

“Ethnicity?”

I raise my eyebrows at Emma.

“Uh, her mom’s indigenous, her dad’s white.”

“Bi-racial, indigenous and caucasian,” I tell the dispatcher.

“How long has she been missing?”

“Since this morning, we’ve been looking for her out here, but we’re not equipped to keep up the search in the storm.”

I give a few other details, the description of the vehicle, and anything else I can think of that might help the dispatcher, who at this point is starting to sound rather annoyed.

“Just so you know, they’re not going to proactively search for her in this storm, they’re just going to keep an eye out..”

“Yeah, I know, but if you have contact with the folks out plowing the roads, ask them to keep a look out?”

“Yeah,” the dispatcher says, their tone softening. “Are you with the girl’s family, Sheriff?”

“A close family friend.”

“Can you go somewhere private?”

This surprises me, but I give Emma an apologetic smile and head to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

“Sheriff Pike of Culver Creek,” the dispatcher says. “You’re not from around here, are you?  I think I remember hearing you’re from somewhere out west.”

“Texas originally, but I was in DC for about 10 years before coming here,” I say. “Why do you ask?”

“West Virginia is home to a lot of history, most good but some real bad. Culver County, especially. Still true. Most things are good. Some things are real bad.  Native girls go missing all the time, and no one seems to care much about it.”

“What?”

“I mean, people go missing all over the state.  If it’s a white girl, people kick up a huge fuss, smaller fuss for a black girl, but a Native?  Never seems to gain the same kind of momentum.  You can report it, but,” their voice trails off, and I can practically hear the shrug over the phone. “Anyway, I just mean, you might want to prepare her people for the worst.”

I suppose I say thank you and hang up, but I don’t remember doing either.  I don’t remember a thing at all until I hear Emma in the doorway.

“What are you doing up on that ankle?” I say softly, making my way over to her to steady her.

“It’s fine, the swelling’s already going down, I don’t think I really sprained it.  I think it’s a bad twist.”

“I heard a snap,” I argue. “Come on, back to the couch.”

She doesn’t protest as I scoop her up again.  I’m glad I’ve been going to the gym – I have to if I want to stay in shape and eat at Emma’s cafe as often as I do. It’s much easier to carry her because I’ve been lifting weights.  Emma’s not exactly skinny, but she’s not so heavy I can’t lift her easily. She’s perfect, to be honest, but based on her comments earlier, I think she might be a little self conscious.  If I were huffing and puffing because I was out of shape, she might take it to heart.  I deposit her on the couch and sit with her.

How do I tell her?  Do I tell her? Fuck.

“What did they say?”

I look at her for a long moment, and cursing myself as I do it, I decide that honesty is the best policy. I’m not a convincing liar, and even if I were… How could I lie to her about something like this?

“Uh, well…” I begin gently. That’s all I have to say.

“They don’t think we’ll find her.”  It’s a statement, not a question.

“No, they don’t,” and I take her hand. “I don’t believe we won’t.  I’ll find her, Emma.  I’ll do everything I can to find her.”

“You promise?

“Yes.”

Emma’s face has cycled through a dozen emotions tonight, but now it’s blank, devoid of emotion at all. My heart aches seeing her like this.  I want to move closer to her, but all I can think is that now isn’t the right time.

She’s scared. She’s worried. She doesn’t need to feel like you’re trying to get in her pants.

But Emma surprises me – not for the first time and hopefully not for the last time- and curls up against me again.  I pull the blanket over both of us, and snuggle up with her. The warmth of her body, the delicate scent of Vanilla that lingers on her hair and skin, and feeling of coziness against the storm outside lulls me to a state of half awake, half asleep. I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or awake, but I feel Emma against me, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel whole.