Note: I know that in many places in the USA, the county sheriff is an elected position, but for the purposes of this story, it’s a job one can apply for, because “Sheriff” sounds more like a small town, and Culver Creek isn’t big enough to boast its own police department, so it makes sense to have a county sheriff. It’s also a fictional place I made up so I can do whatever I want. Nyah.

The story will switch back and forth between Emma and Marcus’s POVs. POV switches will be notated.

TRIGGER WARNING: My usual trigger warnings apply (sex, alcohol use, foul language, etc) but this story is a little different. In addition to the usual fluffy Marcus Pike smut, it also explores some REALLY dark themes, such as murder, Domestic Violence, Racially motivated crimes, rape, abuse of minors, and more.

As this story talks about the exploitation of a marginalized group, I wanted to share resources for those who would like to get involved, help, or just be more informed:
https://www.nativehope.org
https://www.niwrc.org
https://www.nativewomenswilderness.org/mmiw
https://rainn.org/
https://www.thehotline.org/
https://www.lacasa.org/
https://communitycare.sistaafya.com/

If I have misrepresented any minorities with what I’ve written, I apologize, and I am open to education on the matter.

Marcus

Even though it’s only a little under two hours from DC to Culver County, West Virginia, the two places may as well be on different planets. That contrast is drawn into sharp focus as I step out of the small two bedroom house I’ve rented in Culver Creek and an icy blast of wind hits my face. Snow is falling steadily as I climb into the black Jeep with the Sheriff’s office logo on the door, and I wonder -not for the first time- if I made the right decision to take this job. I dig into my coat pocket for my gloves, and with a grimace, realize I’ve lost them.  I shove my hands into my pockets.

 It gets cold in DC, and it snows, but the winds whipping through the rolling hills and mountains of Appalachia are a wholly different animal, with a bite unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

I pull out onto the highway and make my way towards the little strip of life that folks refer to as “town”, but really it’s a half dozen businesses that cater to folks driving through the county as part of the Highland Scenic Highway sightseeing tour.  I imagine most of the businesses will be closed today, as a blizzard -or snow squall, as folks in these parts call it – is forecasted to hit later today. 

One such business is Emma’s Cafe, run by the eponymous Emma.  I’m slightly relieved when I see the lights are off as I crest a small hill just before town, but as I draw closer, I see the lights start to flip on. While I’m always happy to see Emma, part of me wished she stayed home where it’s warm and safe this morning.  I park my Jeep next to her old truck, and then I radio dispatch.

“Morning Irma, “ I say. “It’s Pike, I’m heading into the diner for breakfast, then I will be in.”

“Understood,” Irma says, her smoker’s growl coating her voice.

I make my way through the snow, which is already two or three inches deep, up to the door of Emma’s little cafe.  It very much reflects her personality: Warm, Cozy, and full of bright colors.  It always smells like fresh coffee and vanilla, not like a greasy spoon diner.

Emma stands behind the counter, a wide smile on her pretty face. I feel my stomach do a slight dip when her big brown eyes met mine.

“Mornin’ Emma,” I say as I stamp the snow off my boots.

“Mornin’ Sheriff,” she returns brightly, setting a mug of coffee down at my usual spot at her counter.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Marcus?” I say, wishing that she felt comfortable enough with me to do it.

“At least one more time,” she says, and she gives me another big smile.  She’s gorgeous; with long blond hair she keeps pulled back when she’s working, but little strands always fall out around her face.  Her eyes are somewhere between caramel and chocolate, and kinder than any other eyes I’ve ever seen. 

“Please call me Marcus,” I say as I try to warm up my hands.

“Don’t you have a pair of gloves?” She asks. “Marcus,” she adds playfully.

“No,” I reply sheepishly. “I mean, I do… I just can’t find them and I keep forgetting to buy new ones.”

“Well, you’d better get a move on.  This is your first winter here, isn’t it?”

She’s right.  I moved to Culver Creek just over 9 months ago, just as spring was starting to roll through the foothills.  After I retired from the FBI, I didn’t want to go back to Texas.  I’ve come to love the rolling hills of Appalachia since moving to the east coast, and I decided to try making a life here.

“Yes ma’am,” I answer her

“You want me to call you Marucs, then you’d better stop calling me ma’am,” she threatens playfully.

“All right, all right,” I chuckle, holding up my hands in pretend surrender. “Yes Emma, it’s my first winter here.”

She talks about the weather for a few minutes, and though I would literally listen to Emma read the phone book, I wish we could talk about something else.

I’ve been coming to Emma’s for breakfast a couple of mornings a week since I moved to Culver Creek, and I’ve noticed that strange feeling in my stomach each time.  It took me a while to realize what it was – I’ve been single for a long time – and while I normally have no problem asking out a woman I find attractive, something about Emma intimidates me.

Some of it is her looks, but she’s also got a sharp wit that never fails to make me laugh.  Not a polite giggle, but a deep guttural belly laugh that I might be embarrassed about if not for how good it feels to laugh with her. She’s also very kind, and that’s something that’s pretty rare in the world these days.

I noticed the little chalkboard where she writes the days’ menu is blank.  Emma’s cafe is small, and she doesn’t offer a full menu, just a small selection of different items each day, along with her baked goods. 

“No menu today?”

“No,” and she goes on to say she’s closing up shop at noon.  I feel relief at that. I know Emma is a grown woman, perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but I’m still glad she won’t be navigating the dark, steep, narrow back roads in a blizzard. “So whatever you want, within reason,” she says with another one of those smiles.

 “So no “Benedict with smoked salmon and caviar”?”

“Decidedly not. I might have some smoked salmon, but if you want caviar, you’ll have to go back to DC.”

“Well I won’t be doing that, because then it wouldn’t be breakfast with you,” I say before I can stop myself. Her cheeks tinge slightly pink and she bites her bottom lip slightly.

“So, do you want your usual?” she asks, but her voice is slightly wobbly. 

Fuck, she’s cute.

Before I can find the words to answer, the bells on the door to the cafe jingle.  I instinctively turn and see a small elderly man bundled up in so many layers of clothes he can’t quite lower his arms all the way.

“Mr. Mason,” Emma chides him reproachfully. “What are you doing out in this cold?”

“Now you know I have to come check on you.  You didn’t answer your home phone.”  He painstakingly wipes his boots on the rug.  I listen to the two of them go back and forth, bickering like father and daughter, though I know they aren’t related.  Mr. Mason seems to have a sweet tooth, which Emma scolds him for.

 “Doc Amron would have me eat like a rabbit.  I’m ninety years old.  What am I staying healthy for?”

“Someone’s gotta walk me down the aisle should I ever be foolish enough to do it again.”

I feel that damn flutter again when she says that, and I decide that this is it: This is the day I’m going to ask Emma Crocker to go to dinner.

“Well get a move on,” Mr Mason Grumbles. “I miss cookies.”  Emma chuckles affectionately. She takes my order and heads back into the kitchen, but she catches her elbow on something, maybe the counter as she turns.  I wince in sympathy.

“I’m not foolin’, I wish she would get a move on.  I’d like to see her settle down before I leave this world. Emma could use a good man.”

“You two really care about one another, huh?”

“I was the third person to hold Emma after she was born.  Me and my late wife had a small hand in helping to raise her after her mama passed on. I think of her like one of my own.”

There’s a slight pause, and then he continues. 

“Are you married, Sheriff?” Old Mr. Mason asks me, looking longingly at the muffins, eclairs, and pies in the pastry case.

“No, I’m divorced.”

“How long ago?”

“Ah.. About 15 years,” I say after doing some quick math.  Mr. Mason looks surprised.

“And you never wanted to remarry?”

Nosey Old Goat, I think.

“I did, but it didn’t work out, and now I’m here.”

“Emma’s divorced too.”

“Oh?” I say, even though I knew that.

“If that good for nothing ex husband of hers shows up around here, I hope you’ll run him out of town.”

“Why, what’s so bad about him?”

“He put Emma in the hospital a while back.  Broken ankle, just about every rib cracked, dislocated shoulder.”

I feel my lungs deflate as he says that, but before he can go on, the kitchen door swings open again and Emma comes out smiling again. I can’t fathom anyone ever being so evil to put their hands on that sweet face, to break that gentle heart.

“What are you two up to?” she says as she catches the awkward atmosphere.

“Nothing,” I say, but I can’t quite look her in the eye. “Just chatting about the weather.” Somehow, I don’t think that she’ll like that we were gossiping about her.

“Sure,” she says, her tone one of disbelief. I watch her mentally counting the eclairs to see if Mr. Mason snagged one.  When she’s satisfied that no theft has occurred, she sets about making Mr. Mason’s oatmeal.  I don’t mind waiting; I love watching Emma work. I can tell she loves to cook, even if it’s just instant oats and a little cut up fruit.  She also clearly loves Mr. Mason, and that just endears her to me more.

I sit there in silence for a while as Mr. Mason eats, and Emma heats up her griddle.  Mentally, I urge her to take her time so that I have an excuse to linger in her company after Mr. Mason leaves.  I’m not above asking her out in front of him, but I’d rather do it when it’s just the two of us. 

She makes the batter completely from scratch; no boxed mix here, and to my surprise, she whips heavy cream to a thick froth by hand before folding in her dry ingredients. 

“Mr. Mason, don’t think me unkind, but you need to get home before the snow gets any worse.  I don;’t want to have to call Jimmy to come pull you out of a ditch,” she says. 

He grumbles good naturedly, but pulls on his heavy down coat and heads towards the door. Emma turns back to the griddle, flipping my pancakes over.  I can’t help but let out a small chuckle.

“What?” She asks, turning back to me, and I can see a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

“It’s just sweet how you two carry on,” I answer honestly.  I lean back and listen to her tell me about their two families, and I feel that pang in my chest again, realizing how alone she is. She asks about my family as she serves me her pancakes, which are fat and full of chocolate chips. The scene of vanilla and warm chocolate hits my nose and my mouth waters.I finish my pancakes, and I wipe my mouth with a napkin.

Now or Never.

“Listen,” I tell her, holding her gaze for a moment, but before I can finish the thought, the bells on the cafe door chime again.  Emma looks up almost instinctively, a welcoming smile on her face, but just as quickly, the smile evaporates, replaced by a deep scowl.  I’ve never seen Emma look so angry.

I shift slightly on my stool and look at the hulking form of the man who just walked in. It’s clear that once upon a time, the man was in good shape, but he’s started to go soft.  His face is red and splotchy, perhaps from the cold, but judging by the way his hands shake, I think it’s probably from a deep love of grain alcohol.  

“What are you doing here?” she asks the man, her voice full of such hatred, I know immediately this must be the good for nothing ex husband Mr. Mason spoke about.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You have something to say to me, you can say to Ann Larian, of Larian, Diemel and Olson.”  

“Em, don’t be like that.”

I look him up and down, crossing my arms over my chest.  I want to step in, to tell him to leave, but I don’t want to overstep my bounds.  Emma’s a grown woman, and I have no claim on her affections, but seeing this man in the flesh, knowing what I know about him, stokes the quiet fire that’s been burning for her all these months.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Emma repeats  “Please leave, there’s no loitering.”

“I’m a paying customer,” he says, pulling out his wallet.

“I have the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason.” Emma points to the door.  “Please leave.”

“Em, come on,” he pleads once more. “Just hear me out.”

“No, Deacon, I will not.”

“Em-” he takes a step towards her.

“You heard her. Get out.” I say finally, unable to stand him so close to her.

“And who are you?  Some deputy of Roy’s?”

“Roy retired last spring, I’m the new Sheriff. I’ll say it again.  Emma asked you to leave, so go on, before I arrest you for trespassing.” I stand up, and though I have to look up at him, I’m not intimidated by bullies. I hold my ground.

I see him sizing me up, probably trying to decide if I’m bluffing.  Finally, he puts his hands up in surrender, and backs out of the cafe.

“See you around, Em,” he says.

“No if I see you first,” I hear Emma Mutter

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she says, but her breathing is stilted, coming in anxious gasps.

“Does he do this often? Show up out of the blue, I mean?”

“He used to do this all the time just after our divorce was finalized, but I haven’t seen him for about a year, maybe eighteen months,” she says as her breathing returns to normal. “He never wants anything good. He’ll whine and moan about wanting me to take him back, but then I’ll hear down at the IGA it’s because some floozy he took up with kicked him out.”

I can’t help myself; I let out a huff of laughter.

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny, not really, I just… This is a small town.  But I thought he didn’t leave around here anymore?”

“He doesn’t, but his sister Evangeline does, up to Wisteria Acres Trailer Park,” Emma explains. “She’s good friends with Patty Pritchett, and if you tell Patty anything, you might as well paint it on a billboard along the highway.”

“Noted,” I say dryly.  I push the thought of asking her to dinner out of my mind. Now just isn’t the right time. Her phone rings, and she looks at me apologetically before she steps into the kitchen.

“Sorry, I think May Anne is calling to see if I’m open today.”

I sit in the empty cafe, looking around at the delicate hand painted flowers on the walls, the pastry case full of delicious treats, the colorful touches that reflect Emma so wonderfully, and I’m filled with a deep hatred for Deacon. I wonder again how anyone could do what Mr. Mason described to anyone, let alone someone like Emma, who is so sweet and kind and just good.

Emma emerges from the kitchen, and her face is paler than it was a few minutes before.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, unable to keep the concern from my voice.

“That was May Anne’s mother,” Emma says hoarsely.  “She was supposed to be home an hour ago, but there’s no sign of her.”

“Is she answering her phone?”

“She doesn’t have a cell phone,” Emma replies. “Her family is pretty poor, and she wants to go to college in the fall, so she’s been getting by without one.  Service out here is so spotty most people still have home phones anyway,” sher rambles, and I realize how worried she is about May Anne. “I was going to ask if you could ask your deputies to keep a look out for her.

“Sure. Was she on foot?”

“No, she drives my mom’s old buick skylark.  It’s light blue.” 

I look up, surprised by that 

“You two are close, huh?”

“I think of her like a little sister, I guess. She reminds me a little of myself when I was her age, but she’s so much brighter than I ever was.  She has a full ride to UMD in the fall and I wasn’t using the car anyway.”

I nod gently and try to get more information about May Anne before I station and asks dispatch to radio my on duty deputies to have them on the lookout for May Anne.

“I’m sure she’ll turn up. Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Not really.  She has a crush on Billy Johnson, but he doesn’t like her back, according to her.  And May Anne isn’t the type to run off without telling anyone where she’s going.”  

“We’ll find her,” I try to assure her, checking the time.  I need to head into the station, or else rumors will start flying around.  I don’t especially mind, but Emma might.  “I’m sorry Emma, I wish I could stay here where it’s cozy and warm, and smells like vanilla pancakes all day but duty calls.”  I pay for my breakfast and shrug my coat back on.  “She’ll turn up,” I say, giving her an empathetic smile.

She nods at me, but she doesn’t look too hopeful.  I don’t bother telling her I saw teen runaways all the time in DC and even back in Austin.  It wasn’t my department, but I knew that many times, they turned up after a day or two, even kids who “didn’t seem like the type.”

I climb back in my jeep and head down to the station.  I start making calls around town, ostensibly to ask if folks have seen May Anne, but I can’t help myself, I ask about Deacon too.

“No, I ain’t seen him neither.” Taylor Michaels tells me before rudely telling me that he has better things to do than “natter” with me all day. I shake my head, wondering what’s so important for a barber on a day like today before I call the next place on the list.  No one has seen May Anne, but a couple of folks have seen Deacon.

“Yeah, he was in here last night,” Lucy Davis, owner of the general store, which most folks still call “The IGA”, says. “Bought a handle of whiskey and some electrical tape, and some cable ties. I thought that was an odd purchase, cause Deacon never liked to do any work for anyone, but he said he was fixing some wires out at his sister’s trailer.”

“Thanks Lucy,” I say, writing that down.

The rest of the phone numbers on the short town directory yield no answers and I wasn’t about to start calling folks at home until I knew there was a reason to. May Anne is probably holed up with some boyfriend somewhere, even if Emma thinks she wouldn’t worry her parents like that.

I hear several tow calls from the state police come across the radio, and Jimmy Baker, the town mechanic, radios back that he’s enroute.  I hope that Emma’s getting ready to lock up and head home.  I decide I’ll swing back by to check on her before I head home myself.

“Irma,” I call to the dispatcher.  She’s a tiny thing with iron grey curls and a cigarette always hanging out of her mouth.  There’s no smoking in the station, but the unlit cancer stick dangles between her lips. “Put the recording on to call the state police if there’s an emergency and head on home.”

“You sure sheriff?”

“Yeah, but I’ll pay you for the full day, I just don’t want you getting stuck.  I’m heading home myself,” I say.  On my way out the door, one of my deputies calls me and tells me that he’s had no luck finding any sign of May Anne.

“I’m gonna go talk to her parents.”

“Fine, then you head home, we’re not going to find her in this blizzard anyway.”  I look down the road, but visibility is already bad as the snow continues to swirl through the air.

Emma is in the parking lot next to her car when I pull up.  I roll my window down and give her a smile.

“I wanted to swing back by to tell you to get on home, the roads are getting bad, but also to tell you that we haven’t found any sign of May Anne.  Ronald is talking to her parents now.”

“I’m headed home,” she says, but then I see that her tires look odd, even in the deepening snow around them.  

Flat, I realize.

“Doesn’t look like you’re headed anywhere,” I say, and I climb out and take a look at her truck.  It’s all four tires.   Deacon… I think darkly. “Son of a bitch. Come on, hop in.”

“Jimmy’s gonna come give me a tow.”

“Jimmy’s gonna be tied up with the state all day. I heard it on the radio. He’s not gonna turn down state money.  Come on Emma, I’ll drop you off at home and we’ll figure out what to do with your truck once the worst of the storm passes.” I hold the passenger door open for her.

“You really don’t have to-”

“I know.  Get in.”

She hesitates a moment, then she climbs in the truck. She shivers slightly.  The temperature must be in the single digits.

“I suppose you know how rare it is for four tires to spontaneously go flat,” I say, turning the heat up for her.

“I do. Deacon isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“You wanna file a police report?”

“Yes, and no.  I should, because it’s the right thing to do… but I don’t wanna fuck up his parole.  I mean-” I see her blush a little. “Sorry, I shouldn’t swear.”

“I don’t mind,” I say softly. I carefully navigate the jeep back on to the highway. “Anyway uh… Maybe you should fuck it up.”

“What makes you say that?”

I keep my eyes fixed on the white road ahead of me. I want to turn to look at her, but I’m afraid of swerving into the ditch. 

“Sometimes guys like him need to go to jail for it to sink in.”

Emma falls silent.  I decide not to push.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember where the turn is.”

“Oh, it’s about five miles up, on the left,” she says as we pass Jimmy’s Texaco station.  The main highway is plowed, but I can see the side roads are untouched.

“So you really lived here all your life?”

“Yeah… I mean, I left for a few years after I turned eighteen.”

“College?”

“No, with Deacon,” she says. “I didn’t go to college.”

“How come?”

“No money, and I was young and dumb and though I was in love.”

“Now you don’t?”

“My idea of what love is has changed,” she says.  “The next turn is coming up. It’s just up around the bend, on the left,” she tells me.

“If Deacon’s back in town…” I say, but I pause.  “Just… You can call me if you need anything.  Even if you’re just scared.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine,” she assures me.  “That’s my driveway.  You can drop me-”

“I’m not dropping you off in the middle of the street.”

“No, I just meant-”

“I’m dropping you at the door and waiting til you get inside,” I say firmly.  I pull the jeep up the steep drive and pull into the little parking turn out by the front porch.

“Thank you for the ride,” she tells me. 

“You’re welcome,” I say softly. 

She reaches for the door and steps out of the jeep, but suddenly she lets out a small cry, and I see her tumble into the snow.

“Emma!” I say, and I scramble around the jeep to her, kneeling beside her in the snow. I carefully brush snow off her face and out of her hair. “Are you okay?”

“My ankle. Fuck,” she swears.

“Come on, put your arms around my neck,” I say.

“Don’t, I’m too heavy.”

“You are not.  Come on.” She puts her arms around my neck and I pull her to her feet.  “Can you put any weight on it?” I ask, carefully holding her.  She tries, but she immediately falls against me.  

“I’ve got you,” I say, getting a good grip on her, pulling her close to me. She smells like Vanilla.  “Easy does it.”  

In one fluid motion, I lift her up in my arms, carrying her up the porch steps.  I hold her steady as she unlocks her front door, and then I carry her inside, setting her down gently on her couch.

“Let me take a look,” I say.

“It’s fine.”

“Emma, I heard a crack.  It might be broken.  Please, let me help you.”

She swallows hard, and she nods.

“All right,” she almost whispers.  I gently unlace her boots before I pull off her sock and roll up the hem of her pant leg slightly. Her skin is feverishly hot to the touch as I gently feel her ankle. It’s already swelling. Then I see the long ugly scar that runs from the top of her foot just past her ankle bone.

“You broke your ankle before?”  I say, my brows knitting together.

“…Yeah,”  she says, but I catch the moment of hesitation. She bites her lip.

“Deacon,” I say darkly.  She nods. “He beat you up?” I decide not to tell her that Mr. Mason filled me in on the uglier parts of her marriage that morning. 

“I figured you knew, no one in this town can keep their mouths shut.  It was the first time he put me in the hospital.  I’m embarrassed to say he wasn’t the last.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed about that, Emma.”  I continue to examine her ankle. “I think it’s just a bad sprain, but you’ll need to stay off it until Doc Amron can take a look at it.”

“I have animals to tend to,” she says, looking at the clock next to her TV.

“I’ll do it,” I say.

“No I-”

“Emma,” I say gently. “You’re hurt, and I ca- I’m your friend. Let me help you.”

I care about you, you stubborn gorgeous woman, I think with affection.

“You don’t know what needs to be done or where anything is.”

“I’m sure you can guide me.”

She starts to protest again, but she looks up at me and sighs.

“Thank you,” she finally says softly.  She gives me the rundown of where to find things, and I venture back out into the cold.  

I head out to her heated barn.  She has a handful of goats, and a small flock of chickens that are shut up in an indoor coop with the word “MotherCluckers” painted over the door. I chuckle at it as I open the coop and feed and water the birds.  A few of them cluck at me balefully but otherwise, no issues.

The ducks and goats are wary of me, and give me a wide berth as I fill their troth with a hose and put some fresh hay out of them.  I’m about to head back to the house when I hear a very tiny “Mew” above me.

I look up in the direction of the sound and see a black cat looking down at me from the rafters. She’s a sleek, skinny thing, but she’s very curious about me.  She makes her way down from the rafters and weaves between my legs.  I give her a pat, wondering why Emma didn’t mention where to find her food.  

Maybe barn cats are self-sufficient? I thought.  There’s a lot I still need to learn about country living, it seems.

I trudge back to the house, taking my muddy snowy boots off at Emma’s front door, very glad I put on a new pair of socks without any holes in them that morning.

“The animals are all fine,” I say.  “I fed the chickens, ducks and goats. You didn’t mention your cat though, so I wasn’t sure where to find her food.”

“I don’t have a cat,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing together.

“Well, you have a visitor then.  She was quite friendly, so I thought she must be a pet.”

“Poor thing, she must have wanted to get out of the cold.”

“Yeah, she’s curled up in the barn with your goats.”

“She’s welcome to ride out the storm with them,” she says softly. 

I look around the house, and I try to suppress a smile. It isn’t what I’m expecting at all.  I thought there would be bright colors and lots of plants; an extension of her cafe, but this place is dark and if I’m honest, a little sad.  The furniture is cheap, covered in dark scratchy upholstery, and the carpets are dingy and worn. The walls are that cheap, greasy looking faux wood panel that was so popular in the seventies. It feels as much like Emma as the weather outside feels like a nice summer’s day.

“What?”

“Your house doesn’t seem very… You.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well the Cafe seems like you, with all the pink and stuff… This… not so much.”  I gesture to the dark wood paneling and furniture.

“No, this is my dad… I’ve been so busy getting the cafe up and running that I haven’t done much in the way of fixing up the house since I moved back here.”  She says. She shifts slightly, and she winces.

“Can I get you anything or do anything for you?  Ibuprofen?  Blanket?” I ask.

“Yes, thank you. There’s some ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, it’s just down the hall over there,” she points. “Please.”

“Coming right up,” I say, and I head off in the direction she points. In the way back, I stop in her kitchen and grabbing a glass from her dish drainer.  The kitchen feels more like Emma.  The appliances are old, but they look like the kind that will last forever. Her refrigerator is covered in pictures of what I assume are friends and distant family.  There are cheerful pale pink lace curtains in the window over the sink, a pink standing mixer, and pink plates in the dish drainer I grab the cup from. I fill the cup in the sink and head back into the living room, handing the cup and pills to Emma.  She takes three and swallows the water in one gulp.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you here with your ankle like that,” I say. “Why don’t you come back with me to town?  I have a spare room that’s comfortable.”

“What about my animals?” she asks.

“I’ll come back in the morning to take care of them.”

“I doubt the roads will be plowed.  It’s supposed to snow all night,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that…You seem to have a hard time asking for help, and a hard time accepting the offer.”

“I’m just used to doing things on my own.”

“You don’t have to, though.”  I sit on the couch, not quite next to her, and look at her for a long moment. I feel the fluttering in my stomach again.  I open my mouth to speak again, but before I can, a terrible gust of wind rips through the afternoon, and the house shudders.  The lights flicker for a second, and a loud clap of thunder booms almost directly overhead.  The view outside the window looks as if someone has hung a white blanket in front of it. I can’t see anything beyond her front porch.

“Wow,” I whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Snow squalls are pretty common out here,” Emma says. “They’re dangerous.” She casts a look over at me. “You can’t drive in that. You can stay here,” she says, but she seems surprised by her own offer, and I feel like maybe it’s out obligation.  I don’t want to impose.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got snow tires on the jeep-”

“It’s more than that,” she interjects. “You won’t be able to see anything. It’s white out conditions. You don’t know the roads this far out real well yet, and-”

“Emma-”

“Please,” she says. “Don’t try to head back to town. You might think you know, but Marcus… If anything happened to you…” Her voice trails off. “Please stay.”

“I don’t want to impose on you, Emma.”

“You just told me I could stay at your place because of my ankle,” she argues. “Now who’s being stubborn?”

“Touche.”

“You can’t drive in that,” she says again, and another howling gust of wind causes the windows to rattle.

“No, I don’t think I can,” I agree, getting up and going over to the window. “I can’t even see my jeep.”

I look over at her, a small smile on my face.

“I can sleep with the goats. If it’s good enough for a cat, it’s good enough for me.”

She smiles, and I feel those flutters again.

“I have a spare room, too, you know.”

“I didn’t want to assume.”

“I wouldn’t make you sleep with the goats,” she says, still smiling.

“I could do worse,” I say.  I sit back on the couch. “I’d love to stay, thank you for the offer.”

“Thank you for everything,” she returns.

“What are friends for?”

Her cell phone rings.  She gives me an apologetic look as she answers it.

“Hi Ms. Opal,” she answers

I hear Opal Collin’s frantic tone, but I can’t make our that words.

“I’m with Sheriff Pike right now,”  she looks over at me.  “One sec,” she tells Ms. Opal.  She mutes the phone and looks at me. I shake my head sadly.  I hope she understands my meaning:   No updates, no news.  I hold out my hand for the phone.

“Ms. Opal, hold on, he wants to speak to you.”  She hands me the phone.

“Hi Mrs. Collins,” I say.  “I have my deputies on the lookout for her, but with the storm, there’s not much we can do.  Hopefully she’s just holed up with a girlfriend-”

“She wouldn’t do that without calling.  My husband and I are about to go look for her ourselves.”

“I understand how you must be feeling, and I’m so sorry, but you need to stay indoors until the storm passes. It’s too dangerous to be out in it.  We’ll have a better chance of finding her once the snow stops and the roads are plowed.”  

She cries, and my heart aches.  I talk to her patiently, trying to reassure her, but I know nothing will do that until May Anne is back home.  Eventually we hang up and I look over at Emma.  Her face is so full of worry and I feel the urge to hold her close and stroke her hair until she feels better, but instead, I clear my throat.

“I’m so sorry,” I say to her. “I’m sure she’ll turn up after the storm passes,” I try to reassure her.

“It’s not like May Anne not to at least call,” she says.

“I know, but Emma, she’s a teenage girl.”

“May Anne isn’t a normal teenage girl.  She’s not the kind of person to let her parents worry.”

“Even if she was seeing someone they didn’t approve of?”

“She wouldn’t keep that secret from me,” she says. May Anne confessed many a crush to her over the years.

“Even if she thought you wouldn’t approve?” She shrugs.

“May Anne is the most responsible person I know,” she says after a minute. “But I hope you’re right.”

A long silence passes between us.

“You were going to say something earlier,” she says after a moment.  “Before Deacon showed up.”

“I was?  Huh, I don’t remember now,” I say, but I avoid her gaze as I say it.

“You’re a lousy liar,” she says.

“I am,” I reply.  I look back over at her. “I dunno if now’s the right time.”

“Why not?”

“You’re worried about May Anne, your ankle… Deacon…”

“Trust me, Deacon is the last thing on my mind.”  She shifts slightly on the couch, wincing as she does. 

“Are you in pain?”

“It’s not bad,” she says.  “Anyway, I could use something to take my mind off of it… And off of May Anne, since I can’t do anything until the storm passes anyway.”

I sigh.

“There’s about a million ways I’d rather do this… Smoother, more charming ways.”

“Do what?”

“I was going to ask you if you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime,” I say.

She blinks, surprised.

“I…”

For one heartstopping moment, I sit there, waiting for her answer. Her hesitation is clear; she’s looking for a way to gently reject me.  I idly wonder if she’s afraid I’ll fly off the handle like Deacon.

“I’d like that,” she says to my surprise.

“You would?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Good,” I say. “Then I’ll make a reservation.”  I have no idea where, we’d probably have to drive an hour to find a place that even took reservations, but I don’t care. I’m going to take Emma to dinner.