Blind Man's Bluff

Can you love someone and still be free?

Emma Wyatt agrees to tutor a recently blinded, embittered soldier because of the $50,000 paycheck his brother offers. Blind herself, Emma dreams of independence and freedom. She wants to own a large kennel and live away from her overprotective family. But when she's attracted to her student, she fears falling for him means giving up her dreams.

Can you protect someone when you cannot see?

Good soldiers show no weakness. Ian MacGregor holds his battle with claustrophobia close to his chest, unsuccessfully trying to cope on his own. He’s lost in the dark and struggling to accept his fate. Ian knows duty, honor, serving his country. But his desire for Emma is overshadowed by the danger lurking around them. Emma would be better off with someone else. Someone sighted.

Someone able to protect her from the person determined to keep them apart.

 

"Blind Man's Bluff is a book that grabs hold of your heartstrings and keeps you turning the pages until you sigh with contentment at the end. Strong characters, a fabulous story! In my opinion, you can t go wrong, a definite keeper." ~ Best-selling Author Catherine Anderson

 

"Kay Stockham's stories are at once sweet and sexy, deeply emotional, and sprinkled lightly with suspense for good measure. Everything you could want in a book and more." ~ Award-winning author Toni Blake

 

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Excerpt

"Only you would inherit a pregnant Great Dane."

Emma Wyatt laughed as she filled a couple baskets of pretzels to have at the ready. It was hot out, and while The Royal Ace wasn't that busy at the moment, it would be soon. "Tell me about it," she said in response to Tasha's comment. "But what can I do? Goli is such a sweetheart, and Mr. Bowman knew not just anyone would take her."

"Got that right," Morgan said as she munched on one of the potato chips that came with her sandwich. "That dog is bigger than my kitchen."

Married right out of high school, Morgan was the only one of the Besties with a ring and a couple kids underfoot. She lived in an area called Rose Hill, the high-end section of Stone Gap Mountain, Georgia, boasting houses that were a minimum of thirty-five hundred square feet. Stone Gap was nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains far enough north to make it a scenic drive.

"Emma, I hate to tell you this but that dog? She's big—and she's going to get even bigger when she gets ready to deliver those puppies." Morgan slurped the last of her soda, the noise obnoxious. "They'll be here before you know it."

"She's right, you know," Tasha said from her stool beside Morgan's. "You need to begin advertising those pups now. See if you can start a wait list and get people lined up before the big day. Maybe Jolie can design some flyers for you. Her flyers for the soft opening of Cuppa Jo's were great."

"Do you know who the father is?" Morgan asked.

Emma shrugged and kept working, not letting the chatter keep her from her tasks. "I have no idea. It wasn't exactly a planned breeding."

"It rarely is, unfortunately," Tasha added in her serious vet's voice. "But it makes for a great mystery."

Morgan snickered. "It'll be even more of a mystery if they arrive looking exactly like their mama. The saddest part of this story is that even the dog's gettin' more than me," Morgan murmured sourly. "Slut."

Tasha and Emma both laughed but neither of them pursued the comment. Not now. This wasn't place to discuss Morgan's troubled marriage. That topic required chocolate, pajamas, and their favorite drinks.

"Mr. Bowman didn't have any other dogs, so there's no way to tell," Tasha said. "Maybe you could advertise them with a Who’s-Your-Daddy campaign. Have some fun with it."

Emma groaned. Leave it to her friends to come up with that one.

The Besties—Morgan, Tasha, Emma, and Jolie, who had yet to show today—had been friends since school.

Emma had met Tasha in first grade when she'd taught Tasha how to tie her shoes. Morgan had come along in third grade when her father had moved the family to Stone Gap from Ohio for an industrial job, and Jolie was inducted in ninth grade when her very strict parents had stopped homeschooling her and allowed Jolie to move in with her grandmother.

Ten years after graduation, they were still friends. The Besties were great at sarcasm, moral support, and laughter as needed, snarky comments guaranteed.

Emma grabbed a few mugs and aligned the handles the way she liked them for easy reach. She'd discovered when she'd first begun waitressing for her father and then later bartending at The Ace when she came of age that the best way of keeping her sanity was to stay a step ahead of the crowd. With afternoon sessions at Zailer University almost over, the late-lunch crowd would come streaming in shortly.

"Emma, can I get a beer?"

She turned toward the man making the request and smiled. "Sure, Homer. You need pretzels, too?"

"You know me too well, darlin'."

Emma quickly grabbed a mug and moved to the tap. Once full, she flipped the lever back into place and set it aside to fill yet another basket.

A regular at The Ace and one of the town's best mechanics, Homer had a thing about skimping on pretzels. She always gave him extra in exchange for the tips he left her. Every little bit helped when it came to saving up for her dream—a large kennel situated within walking distance of The Ace and her classroom at the university.

Emma delivered the beer and heaping basket of pretzels to the ever-patient Homer then removed the dishes left two stools down by a different customer. That done, she grabbed the rag at her waist to wipe down the bar, the bell banging against the door barely discernible over the jukebox blaring by the pool tables.

If she was going to have to pick up Laney's shifts and work more than her regular hours, the jukebox had to be turned down. The non-stop noise did nothing to help the headache she couldn't shake.

"So," Morgan said, lowering her voice so only they could hear, "where's Laney? I never see her behind the bar anymore."

"She officially quit," Emma informed them. "Laney was hired on full-time as an EMT at the firehouse."

"Oh, wow. Bet your dad loved losing her." Morgan rattled the ice in her glass and slurped again.

Tasha made a sympathetic noise. "Sorry, Em. That's why you've been working so much, huh?"

"Yeah. But I'm not complaining," she added. "More hours means more money." Her sister's new job also meant their father was now leaning on Emma to take over all of Laney’s responsibilities at The Ace, even though Emma also currently ran a small kennel out of her father's garage and had her hands full.

Every tip went into a fund for the future—namely independence and her own place.

She had to get her own place soon. No way could she continue living at the house, not when her father had announced his engagement to a local bank manager who planned to move in after the nuptials. Thank goodness they hadn't set a date yet.

What twenty-eight-year-old woman wanted to be the third wheel to her father's love life? Sharing meals? Downtime?

"Careful," Morgan warned, "you're starting to sound like me. Rory's pay cut has seriously dampened my spending. If not for the money I make on baking and decorating cakes, I'd be up the creek without my highlights. Speaking of which, I gotta go. Em, do you need me to drive you home? I've got a little time before my hair appointment. She's always running behind, anyway."

"No, but thank you. Genie's taking me home."

"I wondered where your shadow was today," Tasha said.

"She's on her way, and stop calling her my shadow," Emma ordered. "Genie's had a hard time of it since her grandma died. She doesn't have any family and not many friends."

"Well, you make up for it, big softie that you are, taking in all the strays," Tasha said. "I love that about you."

"I love it too. Hey, don't get me wrong. I feel sorry for Genie," Morgan said, lowering her voice. "She certainly doesn't have much going for her looks-wise. I'm not sure makeup could even help."

Emma grabbed a container of glasses and set them into position. "People are more than their looks, you know."

"Of course they are," Morgan said. "But we live in a society where looks matter, even here in the backwoods of Georgia. All I'm saying is that maybe she would have more friends if she'd make an effort. Some days I wonder if she washes her hair. And those glasses of hers? Seriously, invest in some contacts."

"Wow," Tasha murmured. "You get harsh when you're not getting laid, Mo."

"Oh, please, like you haven't thought the same thing? Being sweet and helpful isn't everything. She needs an as-seen-on-TV makeover," Morgan said.

Emma finished emptying the crate of glasses and set it aside with the other two from earlier. "I think people should be accepted for who they are." And it made her angry when people talked about how someone else should change and judged others when they didn't know the person.

Morgan would do absolutely anything for any of the Besties but to hear her talk about Genie you would think… Well, the worst. About poor Genie and Morgan, for being so bitchy.

Fact was, the few times Genie had been around the Besties had been brief, but the younger woman's awkwardness had been tangible, making them all uncomfortable. Genie was backward and painfully shy, both of which manifested in her lack of social graces.

"Yes, they should be accepted," Morgan said, "but we're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. It's the age of vanity, like it or not."

"All right, you two," Tasha said, her tone firm. "Morgan, aren't you going to be late?"

"Em, it's just an opinion, right?" Morgan said.

"Right." Emma knew Morgan meant well despite her negativity. Morgan was having a hard time at home, and Emma had to give Morgan allowances for being cynical. After all, who knew what Rory was saying to Morgan about her appearance.

Morgan's husband had always struck Em as a super-critical guy, and after kids and baking for cash, Morgan had gained a few pounds. Emma couldn't help but think Rory was at the root of Morgan's comments.

The metal decorations on Morgan's purse scraped against the bar's surface and clinked together as she scooted off her stool. Her heels hit the hardwood floor with a clatter.

"Your uncle's here," Morgan said. "Nice lunch, girls, but I've got to get my hair done and get home. If I don't have dinner on the table when Rory walks through the door he gets persnickety."

"Mmmnfph-" Tasha said around a mouthful of sandwich.

"See you later." Emma gave her friend a goodbye smile and wave.

Several seconds passed before Tasha spoke.

"They're fighting again. Bad."

"Yeah, I could tell. I wish there was something we could do to help." Morgan's marriage had been rocky the last few years but recently things had gotten even more antagonistic.

"The first thing I'd do to help is kick Rory's ass for treating her like his own personal housekeeper, nanny, and cook combined. She supported him through school, does everything for the kids, takes care of the house, plus bakes for her spending money, and he doesn't lift a finger."

"It's her decision. She's the one who choses to stay." Emma snagged a couple baskets and washed them down after emptying them of the remains and paper liners.

Tasha's sigh revealed her frustration, and she rattled the ice in her glass. "I hate to eat and run, but I need to go too. I have to go out to Elmer Pruitt's and check on Barney."

Barney was the pet mule of one of the local farmers, and the thought of Tasha caring for the ornery beast kept the Besties in stitches.

"Ha ha. Laugh it up," Tasha said. "You're not the only one with bills."

"I know. Sorry. Drive safe," Emma said, swallowing her amusement.

"Will do. Your uncle is at sixteen," Tasha added, indicating the table Uncle Bruce had chosen. "Looks like he's having a good day today. Give him a hug from me, 'kay?"

"Absolutely." Emma grabbed an oversized coffee mug and filled it, adding cream and two sugars the way Uncle Bruce liked. She stirred the coffee too hard, the liquid burning her fingers when it splashed over the rim.

There was nothing she could do about Morgan—or Tasha, for that matter. Tasha worried and fussed about Morgan's marriage, but Emma knew it only came as a result of Tasha not wanting to focus too heavily on her personal life and the death of her fiance last year. Talking about Morgan's problems was easier than thinking of what Tasha had almost had but lost.

Trailing her fingers along the edge of the bar, Emma headed toward her uncle.

There was a reason she preferred kenneling to bartending—dogs were a lot less complicated than people.