Read Online The Hopechest Bride by Kasey Michaels - Free Book Online Page A

to admit it, darling. Not everyone packs an extra toothbrush and a first-aid kit to go on his honeymoon.”
    â€œI’ll never live that one down, will I? And I told you, that stuff was just left in the suitcase, and I forgot to take it out.”
    â€œOf course it was. Right next to three new pairs of pajamas, still with the sales tags on them.”
    Joe put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close. “Those tags never did come off, did they? Because the pajamas never made it out of the suitcase. Now there’s a memory I’m glad you didn’t forget. Or maybe not. Maybe I’d like to refresh your memory.”
    He kissed her then, and Meredith returned the kiss, raising a hand to stroke his cheek. But then she pulled away and stared deeply into his eyes. “Nice try, darling, and I’ll be sure to take you up on it later. However, I got the feeling when I walked in that something’s wrong, something’s upset you. I heard the phone ring a few minutes ago. Is there bad news?”
    Joe took her hands in his. “Yeah,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “I was going to tell you, but not until I had an update from the doctor. Meredith, Patsy tried to kill herself this morning.”
    Meredith closed her eyes. “Oh, dear God.” She gripped Joe’s hands, hard, and looked at him. “Is she all right? Did the doctor say she’s all right?”
    Nodding, Joe said, “They got to her in time. No one knows where she got the knife—a homemade affair—but the doctor told me they’re always finding weapons the inmates, uh, the patients, have fashioned out of odds and ends. She slit one wrist, not too deeply, although there was a lot of blood, and Patsy tried to hold off the attendants with the knife when they came to help her. The doctor thinks it wasn’t a serious attempt, more of a cry for help, but they’ve got her in the infirmary on a suicide watch.”
    â€œA cry for help? What sort of help? I want to see her,” Meredith said, her lips tight. “Make the arrangements, Joe. I don’t want to hear that it’s impossible. Do what you have to do, call whoever you have to call. I want to see my sister, Joe. Today. ”
    Â 
    It wasn’t until two o’clock that Emily finally realized she was hungry. She had snacked on a granola bar earlier, when she’d stopped to water Molly, but her stomach had been just about the last thing on her mind.
    She’d been too busy remembering. Remembering the many times she’d ridden this same countryside, gone off on her own to commune with nature—as her father had called it—to be alone, to dream her dreams. How innocent she had been, even as she’d lived with the damning thought that something was very wrong with her mother. Living with the frightening, mind-blowing thought that the woman was not her mother at all.
    Emily drew Molly to a stop at one of her usual resting spots next to a small, fast-running stream and dismounted. Tying Molly’s reins to a branch on a nearby tree, she left the horse to graze in the long grass, then lifted the canvas bag from the saddle horn and sat down on her favorite large rock that jutted out over the stream.
    Fried chicken. Definitely the fried chicken. She rummaged in the insulated bag, taking out a small see-through container holding a leg and a wing—her favorites—and unwrapped the clear plastic wrap holding some celery and carrot sticks. She’d eat, then refill her canteen from the stream, and be on her way, already knowing that she’d have plenty of time to reach the cave before it got too dark.
    She looked to the sky, just to double-check the time she’d glimpsed on her watch, and frowned as she saw the line of black clouds over the coastline. Damn. She hadn’t been paying attention—and Weather Willie just lost the bet on his sweet bippy. There was going to be a storm, and it wasn’t