The Reckoning. Christie Ridgway

didn’t feel like talking about it anymore, either. Without bothering to make an excuse, he wandered away from his cousin, avoiding the eyes of those around him. Turning a corner, he almost knocked over an easel that held a poster-size photo. He reached out a hand to steady the smiling image of Ryan Fortune. “Husband, Father, Friend” was printed on the cardboard beneath it. “Loved By All.”

      Emmett’s fingers lingered on the edge of the poster. Ryan’s eyes seemed to glitter as they had in life, and then Emmett felt a warm weight on his shoulder, as if the man were holding him there with a ghostly hand. To tell him something? To remind him of something?

      Struck by a new, vague disquiet, Emmett hurried off, heading for the ranch house’s foyer. He pushed open the heavy front door, undeterred by a blast of chilly April wind. The sky was as dark as his mood and it smelled like rain, but he needed fresh air. More, he needed to be alone. He didn’t need a reminder of what he owed Ryan.

      Loved By All. That phrase flitted into Emmett’s mind as he stepped outside. His brother Chris’s headstone read Beloved. Jessica Chandler’s family had carved In Loving Memory onto hers.

      The last few years had taught that those stock phrases didn’t solve one damn thing, though. They didn’t make it any easier for the living to carry on. Love didn’t make it any easier for the living to carry on. And love certainly didn’t wake the dead.

      Oblivious to the cool temperature, he leaned against one wall of the covered entryway, staring at the terra-cotta pots filled with flowers that lined the stone walkway in front of him. A few brave blooms were already showing their faces, but in May the April showers would really pay off. Emmett wondered if he’d still be in Red Rock to see it—and then admitted to himself he more than likely wouldn’t notice if he were. It had been winter inside him for what seemed like aeons now.

      From around the corner of the entryway, a soft, rhythmic thup thup thup caught his attention. Curious, he shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and drifted down the steps to take a look at what was making the noise.

      It was a kid, medium-sized, in an expensive navy blazer and a pair of khakis with a streak of mud on one knee. Between his shiny loafers was a fist-size, black-and-white ball that the boy tossed upward with one foot three times, thup thup thup, before it fell to the stone pathway and he had to start all over again, lifting it with his toe, juggling it for a few moments, then losing it again.

      Emmett’s mind flashed back three months, maybe four. Then, he’d seen that same child, in a diner in Red Rock, sitting with an older couple and across from a blond woman. Emmett had only seen the blonde’s back but he’d seen the tension on the boy’s face.

      A gust of wind tossed the kid’s blond bangs around his forehead and shook a few raindrops out of the low clouds above. The kid looked up, shivered, but went back to his game. The next blast of cold wind started the rain in earnest. Emmett stepped back toward the front door, almost calling to the boy to come inside, but then he shrugged. Hell, the kid wasn’t his concern.

      He had other priorities.

      Behind him, he heard the door open. “Richard?” a female voice called. “Richard, are you out there?”

      The kid ducked his head and kept juggling the ball, despite the rain and despite the person obviously seeking him out. Shrugging again, Emmett turned toward the entryway. He’d wanted fresh air, not a fresh soaking. It was time to go back inside, find Lily and mumble some more condolences, then leave.

      “Richard?” The voice floated closer.

      And then, from around the corner of the house, a woman came into view.

      And brought out the sun.

      It was just the capricious spring weather, Emmett knew that, but it halted him midstride anyway, as a warm beam of light broke through the clouds to spotlight the woman’s long blond hair, her soft white dress, her slender, delicate body.

      He blinked. She was an angel, a candle, a…

      A sign that he needed to get more than three hours of sleep a night, he thought, disgusted. Her gaze bounced off Emmett and then zeroed in on the boy.

      “Richard—”

      “Ricky, I keep telling you,” the kid muttered. “Ricky, Ricky, Ricky.”

      The woman’s forehead wrinkled and Emmett wondered if she might actually cry. He took a step toward her, driven by the sudden thought that he should comfort her, care for her, something, but then she squared her shoulders and her mouth turned up in a little half smile.

      “Well, Ricky-Ricky-Ricky, you shouldn’t be outside in the rain.”

      “It’s not raining anymore.”

      Emmett said that. He couldn’t believe he’d insinuated himself into the strangers’ conversation. But then again, he couldn’t believe that odd compulsion he’d had to take the woman into his arms, either. More sleep was definitely a necessity.

      The woman shot him a puzzled glance, then tipped her face to the sky, like one of those flowers he’d been looking at before. Light bathed her features, illuminating her clear pale skin, her small nose and her pretty mouth.

      He thought of springtime again, actually remembered springtime, with its warmth and sweet scents and green newness. His feet took another step closer to her before he stopped them.

      “I guess you’re right. It isn’t raining anymore,” she said, closing her eyes. She swayed a bit, as if slightly unbalanced. “Doesn’t the sunshine feel good?”

      Emmett refused to answer the question; instead, he asked, “Who are you?” Immediately, he was aware he sounded abrupt and hostile—quite a feat for someone as naturally abrupt and hostile as himself. But the woman unsettled him, ruffled him somehow, and he wanted to figure out what it was, exactly, she did to him. And why.

      To his surprise, it was the truculent kid who answered. While he had seemed peeved at the woman himself, now he moved to stand between her and Emmett, a purely protective stance. “She’s Linda Faraday,” the boy said. “I’m Ricky. Who are you?”

      Linda Faraday. Her son, Ricky. Emmett’s gut tightened. He’d forgotten about them in the days since Ryan’s death. Perhaps it explained the disquiet he’d felt when looking at the older man’s photo. And perhaps it was why he’d reacted so strongly to the woman a few minutes before—his subconscious had recognized her and remembered his promise. Not the one he’d made for Ryan, about capturing Jason, but that promise he’d made to Ryan.

      “Well?” the kid said. “Who are you?”

      Emmett took in a long breath, then gazed into Linda Faraday’s wide blue eyes. Springtime. He had to shove the thought away before it derailed him. “I’m the man who’s going to be looking after you,” he told her.

      Back inside the house, Emmett didn’t waste any time. Rather than wandering about, Emmett asked the first person he knew if he’d seen Dr. Violet Fortune. That person had, and Emmett strode through the somber crowds to find Dr. Fortune in the dining room, putting fruit salad on a small plate.

      “I need some of your time, Violet,” he told her.

      She set down the silver serving spoon, then turned and studied his face. “What you need is more rest, less guilt and a good meal or two. That’ll be two hundred dollars. You can mail a check to my home office.”

      “Ha-ha.” He didn’t crack a smile. “I want to talk to you about Linda Faraday.”

      “Oh, well, I’m not her doctor, and even if I were, I couldn’t—”

      “Ryan spoke to you about her, didn’t he?” Linda Faraday and her son, Ricky, had been Ryan’s source of guilt for over a decade, thanks to the car accident caused by his brother, Cameron, who had been driving drunk. Cameron had died in that accident, and Linda, his passenger, had been terribly hurt. Ryan had kept that secret from the public and from his family, except for Lily and Violet. Linda had been pregnant with Cameron’s