"You are serious about me wedding soon?" I asked uneasily.
"Tomorrow morning."
"That's very … soon. I mean … you may live for a month or two more, and I don't know most of these men."
"I have chosen men who will treat you well," he said.
Except Philip. I said nothing, guessing the familial relationship was what made the cruel cousin a contender. I read through the names I could decipher once more. The image of the three skeletons in the well reminded me of how important this truly was.
If I chose wrong, I could be number four.
"Am I interrupting?" Taylor's gravelly voice drew my attention. He stood in the doorway of John's bedroom, freshly shaven and dressed as if he was prepared to leave.
"The man who finds my lost sheep." John struggled to sit up. "Come, Sheriff."
"I had hoped to speak to you in private, Mr. Jackson," Taylor replied.
My stomach twisted. What was the sheriff going to tell John? About my dream? That I wasn't his real daughter? The dying man didn't need that kind of stress. I didn't think Taylor would betray me like that, but I also didn't know a lot about what motivated him.
"Father needs his rest right now," I said before the weak man could respond. "I don't think you should tax him, Taylor."
"I don't intend to, ma'am," he replied coolly. "I need five minutes of his time and will be leaving."
I started to object when John squeezed my hand. "Go on, dear. Have some breakfast, and we'll talk about the list later."
With some reluctance, I decided not to argue. I kissed him on the forehead and left the bed, pausing beside the sheriff.
"Don't stress him out," I whispered.
"Your secrets are safe with me, ma'am," he replied without looking at me.
"Thanks." I think. I left.
The doors closed behind me. After a moment, I retreated to my bedroom for the tea still waiting for me. Spreading the paper out on the table, I began to suspect I was in a great deal of trouble, if I had to pick out a husband to wed tomorrow morning. I pulled out my cell.
Why do some people have empathic memories and others don't? I texted to Carter and put the phone away.
"Lucas Stephens, Philip Jackson, Julius … Terr … Trev …" I drifted off, unable to read John's scribbles. The names contained no empathic memories that I was able to see, no indication of who the men were or how John viewed them.
"Julius Terrence," Nell said, entering from the direction of the bathroom. "What're you doing, child?"