A no-win situation.

They’d been right.

Eight years ago Zander had lost the two most important people in his life.

Am I about to lose another?

Ava knew his history—the vile agony of his wife’s and never-seen daughter’s deaths. Was he about to lose one of the few people left who truly knew him? Abandonment and loneliness pushed him back into his chair, swamping him, and he lowered his head to his hands, willing the horrific images of his dying wife out of his head.

Alone in the curtained bay, he silently fell apart, broken by the wash of agony and heartbreak.

It engulfed him, the pain as fresh and raw as long ago. Sucking in deep, wet breaths, he fought for solace, relief from the pain. Minutes later it finally came, leaving him battered and drained. He grabbed two paper towels from a wall dispenser, appreciating their roughness as he wiped his eyes and nose.

This was why he allowed himself one day a year to mourn his wife. To avoid moments like this.

Fiona and Faith had died on October 30, and the date was now his annual day of hell. He would lock himself away, wallow in alcohol, and revisit old pictures and dreams that had never come true. It was twenty-four hours of misery and torture, but knowing the date would come each year helped him keep it together the rest of the days.

Ava had witnessed him at his absolute lowest on October 30 of last year.

“Oh my God! What happened? Is it Ava?” Emily’s voice rose, startling him as he turned toward the curtained opening. She sat in a wheelchair, a nurse behind her, both of them staring wide-eyed at Zander.

Clearly he looked like shit.

“I haven’t heard anything about Ava yet,” he forced out, wiping his eyes again.

Emily visibly relaxed. “Are you all right?” she whispered, concern in her tone.

Zander glanced at the nurse, who eyed him as if he would fall apart. “Yeah, I’ll tell you later.” He moved his lips into a wooden smile. “What’s the word on your head?”

“The MRI was fine,” Emily told him. “The radiologist is here, so he reviewed it immediately, and outside of the gash in my scalp, I’m okay. They want me watched for the next twenty-four hours, but I can do that at home. I’ll need stitches before I can leave.” She cautiously touched the bandage above her ear as the nurse helped her out of the wheelchair and onto the exam table. Emily moved with ease and seemed to be her confident self again.

“I’ll tell the doctor you’re ready for stitches,” the nurse said, and she handed Emily some blue fabric. “When she’s done, you can change out of the gown and wear these scrubs home.” Tactfully avoiding direct mention of Emily’s bloody clothing.

“But what about Ava?” Emily asked. “I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s happened.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” the nurse said with a noncommittal smile as she vanished.

“I’m surprised your family isn’t here,” Zander said.

“I didn’t let anyone call them. I knew I was fine. My aunts don’t need the stress.”

“They should know what happened.”

“I’ll tell them when I get home.” She openly studied him. “Are you going to tell me what was wrong when I came in?”

He held her gaze, a debate raging in his mind.

She’s just a witness. I don’t need to tell her about my life.

Am I fooling myself? I want to tell her.

His desire to open up to her about his past and his reaction to her accident had made his feelings about Emily Mills pretty darn clear to him. Feelings he should keep to himself. An invisible ethical line was in front of him, warning him not to step over it.

Fuck it.

“I have a history with hospitals.” He clenched his teeth together as his memories amassed for another emotional attack. “Their antiseptic smell alone can push me over an edge.”

She said nothing, her gaze strong yet empathetic.

“I don’t want—”

“Tell me.”

He told her.

By the end of his story she was holding one of the rough paper towels to her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Zander.” Her breathing hitched. “I can’t imagine what you went through. I’m sorry this happened to you today. You must be worried sick about Ava.”

“She’s a like a sister.” A superficial description of what Ava was to him.

Loud voices carried into their bay, distracting them. Several people were having an argument, and Zander recognized the loudest voice. He pushed the curtain aside, looking past the nurses’ station in the center of the emergency room.

“I’ll be back,” he told Emily.

“I’ll be here. Hopefully having a needle stuck in my scalp.”

He strode through the emergency room and into a short hallway where Ava’s fiancé, Mason Callahan, argued vehemently with several people in scrubs.

“Mason!” Zander caught his attention.

“Get these people to tell me what’s going on with Ava.” Mason’s eyes were livid, and stress rolled off him as he clenched the brim of his cowboy hat. Zander had never seen him this close to losing his temper.

“There’s no news yet,” Zander told him, assuming it was true.

“She’s still in surgery,” Emily’s ER doctor informed him, her eyes snapping. The young woman was also close to losing her temper. “We’ll tell you when we know something.”

“Why is it taking so long?” Mason lowered his volume.

“It’s hard to say,” the doctor said. “I’ll have someone take you to the surgical waiting room.” She indicated an orderly, who asked Mason to follow him.

“Zander?” Mason glanced back as he took a few steps after the orderly.

“I need to talk to the witness. I’ll check in soon.”

Mason nodded and left, his cowboy boots loud on the tile floor.

Zander watched him go, fully understanding the man’s turmoil. Not knowing was hell.

26

Madison listened to Emily on her cell, shock rocketing through her nerves.

Who shot at Emily’s car?

“Hey, Madison? Is this done?” Isaac tentatively poked at a pancake with the metal spatula. “How can I tell that the other side is browned enough?”

She tipped the phone away from her mouth. “Peek under the edge. It doesn’t take long to cook.”

Isaac squatted almost to the floor to get at eye level with the grill and lifted the tiniest edge of the pancake, his focus intense. “A little longer.” He straightened and stood guard over the grill, staring at the three round cakes.

“Ava just came out of surgery,” Emily continued. “Her shoulder and collarbone were damaged, but they’re very optimistic about her recovery.” Her sister’s voice lowered. “Everyone thought the bullet had hit her neck, but it was actually embedded with glass from the window.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“You have no idea.” Her sister exhaled loudly. “Don’t tell the aunties what happened yet. I’ll talk to them when I get home.”

“Okay.”

Dory bustled into the kitchen, an empty coffee carafe in her hand, delight on her face. She set it on the big coffee machine and punched the right series of buttons. Madison was pleased. She’d finally taped a cheat sheet to the machine because Dory forgot how to run it every time.

“Can you ask Uncle Ron to find something to do at the mansion?” Emily asked. “I’d feel better knowing he was there. He’s talked about fixing the outside railing. Maybe this would be a good time.”

“Why?” A small alarm started in Madison’s brain. “Why do you want him there?” Isaac checked the pancakes again, awkwardly slid them onto a plate, and set it up. He lifted a brow to Madison, and she gave him a thumbs-up. A wide grin filled his face.

She couldn’t believe he’d never cooked a pancake.

Emily was quiet for a moment. “There’s some concern that I’m being targeted.”

Madison remembered Emily’s white face at the community meeting. “Because of Nate Copeland’s death?”

“And this shooting today. They could be wrong,” she added quickly. “It could have been random, or maybe Ava was their target.”

“What did you see at Lindsay’s house that morning, Emily? Why is this happening?” Madison whispered as she stepped away from the grill and stoves, out of Isaac’s hearing.

“I didn’t see anything that indicated who killed them.” Emily’s voice wavered, shocking Madison. Emily was the rock of the household—after Vina, of course. She never let a weakness show. “They’re being cautious. Can you talk to Ron?”

“Yes, I’ll call him, but it’s raining, and the wind is horrible. I doubt he’ll want to repair the outside rail.”

“I don’t care what he works on. I just want him at the house when our aunts are there.”

“Is this my short stack?” Dory asked, grabbing the plate Isaac had just filled.

“Yep.” Pride radiated from the teenager.

“Was that Dory?” Emily asked.

“Yes. I’ve got all three aunts working the floor. I’m covering the grill, but I’m giving Isaac some lessons.”