Page 22 of Obsession

“Like before,” Emma said. “Sheriff Carter tended to jump to conclusions and then defend them even if he was proven wrong.”

Anger burned in her chest at the former sheriff. She’d never understood why he’d fixated on Ryan being Mary Jo’s killer, unless Carter had gone off half-cocked and then was unwilling to fix his mistake. “How long will this take to heal?”

“A month, if you rest it. Longer if you don’t.”

“Does that mean I can’t drive for a month?”

“I think driving will be okay after ten days. I’ll know for sure when you come back.”

She wanted to roll her eyes. “Thanks for nothing, Doc.”

“That’s Dr. Cole to you,” he said, then grinned. “Doc is my dad. Just call me Gordon. Or Dr. Gordon like the kids do.”

She sighed. “When do you want me to come back?”

He cocked his head to the side. “This is Friday ... I’ll have the receptionist make you an appointment for next Friday. Unless it gives you trouble—then get yourself back here.”

“Looks like you’ll need me to drive you back and forth from Mount Locust for a few days,” Sam said.

Just what she needed—more time around him. And he didn’t sound all that happy about it either.

11

Darkness and cold met them as they left the clinic. Sam held the door open for Emma, then hurried to open the car door, thankful she didn’t have a bad fracture. The sight of her falling into the open pit had cost him at least two years of his life.

“I can get the door,” Emma said.

“And my mama would skin me alive if I let you,” he replied. Once he had her settled, he walked around and climbed in on the other side. “Are you hungry?”

“I could probably eat,” she said.

“How about a plate of catfish at Jug Head’s?”

Her eyes lit up. “I haven’t eaten there in ages.”

“Good. It’ll give us a chance to talk about your plans for the next few days,” he said. “And maybe we can figure out how we’re going to get through them without taking each other’s heads off.”

Or not, considering the way her lips pressed together in a firm line.

While the restaurant wasn’t far from the clinic, stop-and-go traffic flowing across the Mississippi River to and from Vidalia, Louisiana, slowed them. Sam’s stomach rumbled as he turned into a white gravel drive and searched for a parking spot in front of the quaint plank building. “Pretty busy,” he said. “Want to try somewhere else?”

“It’s Friday—all the restaurants will be busy.”

“Right.” A car pulled from its spot and Sam grabbed the parking space. He hurried around to Emma’s door and helped her out.

He guided her as they walked the zigzag ramp to the door, where the tantalizing aroma of fried food met them.

“I’ll gain five pounds just breathing the air,” Emma muttered.

He agreed. There was no better fried catfish in Natchez. Or hush puppies. Or onion rings. The recipes at Jug Head’s had been handed down from one generation to the next since the early fifties.

“Y’all come on in and find a seat,” the waitress called from behind the counter.

Sam glanced around for a table. Very little had changed about the family-style restaurant since he’d left, including the red-checkered tablecloths and a packed house.

“Over there in the corner,” he said, placing his hand on the small of Emma’s back, steering her to the right. Once he had her stomach filled, he hoped to talk about more than her schedule. Whether he liked it or not, their past needed to be dealt with. If nothing else, they needed to make peace with it.

“Hello, Emma.” The greeting came from a table on the left.

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