Sonoma Rose: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel by Jannifer Chiaverini Page A

diminished in comparison, a wife that a husband did not value enough to protect. Lars cleared his throat and fumbled for her hand, which he squeezed and held on the seat between them. “So. So Henry and Oscar and one of the hired hands—Marco, maybe you remember him—they slipped out the kitchen door. Oscar and Marco went around one side of the house, while Henry went around the other and snuck across the yard to my car.”
    Rosa took comfort in the warmth of his rough, callused hand around hers. It seemed a lifetime ago since they had last held hands in the shade of the apricot orchard, blissful in each other’s company, the sun warm upon their shoulders, the air fragrant with spring blossoms. “And then?”
    “And then Henry told Elizabeth to get out, or he pushed herout, or something, and while she took cover in a ditch, he drove the car straight at John.”
    Rosa knew John, and she knew he wouldn’t have jumped out of the way. “John fired at him.”
    Lars nodded. “The bullet shattered the windshield. When he took aim again, Henry tried to swerve out of the way, but the car struck a rock and flipped on its side. Henry managed to climb out, but John had that pistol fixed on him and was coming closer, so Henry must have thought he had no choice but to charge him.” Lars drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “John shot again, and that time he hit him. Close range, right in the chest.”
    “
Dios mío
.”
    “When they heard the gunshot, Oscar and Marco came running. They tackled John and wrestled the gun away from him. The police showed up shortly after that. One squad car took John to prison, and the other took Henry to the hospital.”
    “Do you know if he survived?”
    Lars shook his head. “Elizabeth rode along with him, but last I heard, she hadn’t yet called with any news. From what Oscar told me, Henry was wounded very badly. It’ll be a miracle if he pulls through.”
    “Oh, poor Henry,” said Rosa. “Poor Elizabeth. She has no one else in the Arboles Valley, no family, no money—what will she do?”
    “She has work and a place to live,” Lars reminded her. “My family will look after her. Don’t worry. And don’t write off Henry just yet.”
    Rosa nodded. For all their reserve, the Jorgensens were kindhearted people, more forgiving than her own family.
    “By the time I got home, the police had taken everyone’sstatements and had left,” Lars said. “Oscar filled me in and helped me get the car upright, and I headed straight to your place.”
    “By then I was already in the cave with the children.”
    “I didn’t know that. I thought maybe he’d—” Lars cleared his throat and continued. “He never came after me like that before. I knew he must have finally figured out about the girls, or maybe you told him—”
    “I swore I would never tell.”
    “I know that. You made me swear too. I thought maybe he…forced the truth from you.” Lars flexed his hands around the steering wheel. “Rosa, I thought he’d killed you. I raced over there fearing I’d find you dead on the floor of the adobe, the children around you, sobbing—”
    “Don’t talk like that.” Rosa glanced at the backseat, where the girls slept on. “Obviously he didn’t kill me.”
    “Not for lack of trying, by the look of it,” said Lars. “He’s lucky he’s safe behind bars, or I’d—”
    “No, Lars. Don’t even say it.”
    “I swear to God, Rosa, I’ll never understand why you continue to protect him after all—”
    “He’s not the one I’m protecting,” she snapped. “If you hurt him, you would end up in jail. What good would that do you? What good would you be to me or the children then?”
    From the corner of her eye she saw a muscle work in his jaw. Long ago, he had promised her that he would not harm John, and she knew he would keep that promise and all others she asked of him from that day forward as atonement for the one promise he had broken, the one that had compelled