ThE BUCKHORN LEGACY. Lori Foster

had to. They shared a special bond, not sexual, yet…still special.

      He felt it. So surely she felt it too.

      * * *

      THE DAYS TICKED BY without word from Emma.

      The fire at the diner had stolen all the news, and Emma’s disappearance was pretty much skipped by most people. After all, she hadn’t made any lasting friendships in the area. The boys had used her, the girls had envied her, and the schools had all but given up on her. Not many people missed her now.

      In the next few weeks, the town gradually settled back down to normal, but an edgy nervousness remained because whoever had broken into Ceily’s diner and started a fire was never found. Casey went through his days by rote, hurt, angry with himself as much as with Emma.

      Three months later, he got a fat envelope filled with the money Emma had taken, and a few dollars more. In her brief note, Emma explained that the extra was for interest. There was no return address and she’d signed the note: Thanks so much for everything. Emma Clark.

      Frustrated, Casey wondered if she always signed her first and last name because she thought he might forget her, just as the rest of the town had.

      At least the return of the money proved she was alive and well. Casey tried to tell himself it was enough, that he’d only wanted her safe, that all he’d ever felt for her was sympathy with a little healthy lust thrown in.

      But he’d be a complete fraud if he let himself believe it. The truth burned like acid, because nothing had ever hurt as much as knowing Emma had deliberately walked away from him.

      He didn’t ever want to hurt like that again.

      Since she didn’t want to return, didn’t want to trust him, didn’t want him, he couldn’t help her. But he could get on with his life.

      With nothing else to do, he went off to school as planned. And though he knew it hadn’t been Emma’s intention, she’d changed his life forever. He wanted her back, damn it, when he’d made a point of never having her in the first place.

      Forget her? There wasn’t a chance in hell that would ever happen.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Eight Years Later

      THOUGH SHE COULDN’T SEE beyond the raised hood, she heard the very distant rumble of the approaching car and gave a sigh of relief. Damon, who had been about to set a flare on the narrow gravel road, walked back to her with the flare unlit. He stuck his head in the driver’s-door window. “I’m going to flag this guy down and maybe he’ll give us a hand.”

      Emma smiled at him. “The way this day is going? We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t speed on by and blow dust in our faces.”

      B.B. hung his head over her seat and nuzzled her ear. His doggy breath was hot and impatient. Likely, he wanted out of the car worse than she did. The winding gravel roads opened on both sides to endless stretches of overgrown brush that shielded anything from rabbits to snakes. B.B. heeded her call, so she wasn’t really worried about him wandering off. But she also didn’t want to take the chance that he’d get distracted with a critter on unfamiliar ground.

      The day had already been endless with one hitch after another. What should have been a six-or seven-hour drive from Chicago to Buckhorn, had turned into eight and a half, and they hadn’t even had a chance to stop for a sit-down meal. Even with the occasional breaks they’d taken and her quick stopover at the hospital, they were all beat. The dog wasn’t used to being confined for so long, and neither was she.

      Damon patted her hand. “Stay put until I see who it is. This late on a Saturday night, and in a strange town, I don’t want to take any chances with you.”

      Emma rolled her eyes. “Damon, I grew up here, remember? This isn’t a strange place. It’s Buckhorn and believe me, it’s so safe it borders on boring.”

      “You haven’t been here in eight long years, doll. Time changes everything.”

      She scoffed at that ridiculous notion. “Not Buckhorn. Trust me.”

      In fact, Emma had been amazed at how little it had changed in the time she’d been away. On their way to the one and only motel Buckhorn had to offer, they’d driven through the town proper. Everything looked the same: pristine, friendly, old-fashioned.

      The streets were swept clean, the sidewalks uncluttered. There were two small grocery stores at opposite ends of town, each with varying specialties. The same clothing store that had been there for over a hundred years still stood, but painted a new, brighter color. The hairdresser’s building had new landscaping; the pharmacy had a new lighted sign.

      Lit by stately lampposts, Emma had gazed down a narrow side street at the sheriff’s station, situated across the street from a field of cows. Once a farmhouse, the ornate structure still boasted a wraparound porch, white columns in the front, and black shutters. Emma wondered if Morgan Hudson still reigned supreme. He’d be in his mid-forties by now, but Emma would be willing to bet he remained as large, strong and imposing as ever. Morgan wasn’t the type of man ever to let himself go soft.

      She also saw Gabe Kasper’s handyman shop, now expanded into two buildings and looking very sophisticated. Apparently business was good for Gabe, not that she’d ever had any doubts. Women around Buckhorn broke things on purpose just to get Gabe to do repairs.

      Then she’d seen Ceily’s diner.

      Her stomach knotted at the sight of the familiar building, quiet and closed down for the night but with new security lights on the outside. Everyone in town loved that quaint old diner, making it a favorite hangout.

      Her heart gave a poignant twinge at the remembrance of it all.

      “For once,” Damon said with dramatic frustration, drawing her away from the memories, “will you just do as I say without arguing me into the ground?”

      B.B. barked in agreement.

      “You guys always gang up on me,” Emma accused, then waved Damon off. “Your caution is unnecessary, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll just sit here like a good little helpless woman. Maybe I’ll even twiddle my thumbs.”

      “Your sarcasm is showing, doll.” He glanced at the dog. “B.B., see that she stays put.”

      The dog hung his head over her shoulder, mournful at the enormity of the task.

      The approaching car finally maneuvered through all the twists and turns of the stretching road, and drew near. Arms raised, Damon rounded the hood to signal for assistance. It must be a nice vehicle, Emma thought, hearing the nearly melodic purr of the powerful engine. She’d learned a lot about cars while living with the Devaughns.

      Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned enough to be able to change a water pump without a spare pump on hand.

      At first, because of the angle of the road, the swerving headlights slanted partially in through her window, blinding her. When the car stopped right in front of them, the open hood of her Mustang kept her from being able to see the occupants. In a town the size of Buckhorn, the odds weren’t too bad that she might recognize their rescuers. Though few people had really befriended her, she’d grown up with them and could still recall many of them clearly.

      Beside her, B.B.’s head lifted and he rumbled a low warning growl at the strangers. Emma reached over her shoulder to put her hand on his scruff, calming him, letting him know that everything was okay.

      The purring engine turned off, leaving only the night sounds of insects. “Well, hello.”

      With amusement in his tone, Damon replied, “Good evening.”

      Emma couldn’t see, but she could hear just fine, and the feminine voice responding to Damon was definitely flirtatious. She sighed.

      Sometimes Emma thought he was too good-looking for his own good. He wasn’t overly tall, maybe an inch shy of six feet, but he had a