“She’s still in shock,” Matt said. “She’ll be better in the morning. Then you can all make the decisions together. You need to include Jeff and Andy in this, too. They’re feeling lost right now, too.”
“I’m sure they are, but they have each other at least. I was the one who always relied on Mama. She was my role model.” Emma looked at him, a mix of hope and doubt on her face. “Do you really think she’ll be better in the morning?”
Matt wanted to believe it. He knew Emma needed to believe it, so he reminded her, “Your mother’s a strong woman.”
Emma shook her head. “I always thought so, but she’s retreated to someplace I can’t reach her.” She touched her cheek. “She slapped me.”
Matt stared, spotting the faint trace of pink in Emma’s pale complexion. “Why on earth would she do that?” he asked, genuinely shocked.
“I told her that Dad was dead, that he wasn’t coming back. I insisted that she face the truth and she slapped me.”
He reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I really am. You know she’s distraught. She’ll feel awful tomorrow.”
“She apologized. As for tomorrow, I’m not sure she’ll feel anything. She seems determined to sleep through everything.” She regarded him with a look filled with hurt and confusion. “What do I do if she’s not better? Do I make the decisions without her?”
“Nothing has to be decided right away,” Matt reassured her. “If she’s not up to it in the morning, you, Jeff and Andy can talk things over and decide what you want. I’ll help in any way I can, too. I can talk to the funeral home, make the arrangements, whatever’s necessary.”
“It’s not your responsibility,” Emma said.
Matt met her gaze evenly, refusing to be shut out. “I loved him, too, you know.”
Her expression instantly apologetic, she squeezed his hand. “I know you did.” She sighed heavily, then glanced around. “Where are Andy and Jeff? Have you seen them?”
“Andy’s in his room. Jeff’s outside, unless he decided to take off after I came back in.”
“He’s in the old tree house, I imagine. They used to love that place. I was barred from ever going up there.” She gave him a faint smile. “I used to sneak up when they weren’t around. In fact, I had my first kiss up there.”
“Oh, really?” Matt said, feeling an unmistakable trace of envy for the lucky boy. “Who was it?”
“Owen Davis,” she announced, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.
“You’re kidding me,” he said, shocked. “You had a thing with Owen Davis? Did your father know about it?”
Emma chuckled at his reaction. “Of course not. He would have been appalled. Owen was not only two years older than me, he rode a motorcycle. He was every girl’s fantasy of a very dangerous guy.”
“More than me?” Matt inquired, wondering just where he’d shown up on her personal radar.
“You weren’t dangerous,” she said as if the idea were ludicrous.
“Your father thought I was.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You were one of the family.”
Matt wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that he’d been so readily accepted in her view or insulted by her complete lack of appreciation for the qualities he’d shared with Owen Davis. If he’d had any idea she was drawn to dangerous boys, maybe he would have made his move back then despite Don’s disapproval. He decided to leave that particular discussion for another day. It wasn’t possible to change the past, anyway.
“So,” he began, forcing a teasing challenge into his voice, “was Owen a good kisser?”
Her expression turned nostalgic. “At the time I thought he was a fantastic kisser,” she admitted.
Matt barely contained a curse at the response. He was being ridiculous. Here he was jealous of a boy Emma had kissed more than a decade ago. Obviously it had never led to anything. He doubted they’d even been in touch in years.
“Have you seen him lately?” he asked anyway.
She stared at him blankly. “Why would I have seen him?”
“You said yourself he was a fantastic kisser.”
“A short-lived opinion. I grew up and discovered that really good kissing involves more than some guy sticking his tongue down your throat,” she said, chuckling. “Owen would not even make my list of top ten kissers today. Probably not even my top hundred.”
Top hundred? What the hell had she been doing up in D.C.? More important, he wondered if he would make the cut. Under other circumstances, he would be tempted to find out. He would be tempted to sweep her into his arms and demonstrate the many nuances of a great kiss. He’d had a lot of years to practice just in case an occasion like this ever arose. He looked up and caught her staring at him curiously.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice vaguely breathless, as if she had a very good idea where his thoughts had wandered.
“You don’t want to know,” he said grimly, deciding to make that coffee after all. If he was going to sit here discussing Emma’s past escapades with the hundred greatest kissers in her life, he was going to need something a whole lot stronger than tea. Liquor was out of the question, given his exhaustion and the fact that he’d have to drive home soon.
“Matt?”
“What?”
“Did I say something to upset you?”
“Of course not. You can say anything you want to me.”
“I always thought I could,” she said, sounding suddenly uncertain.
“You still can,” he insisted, even if listening killed him. He would go through the tortures of hell, if it would distract her for a while from the reality of her father’s death.
“You’re a good guy,” she said.
She said it the way she might say it to an older brother. It grated on Matt’s nerves. He’d worked damn hard to become a good guy, and now he didn’t want to hear it. How ironic was that?
“That’s me, all right.” He poured himself a cup of strong coffee, then sat back down. “Tell me about your life in Washington. You work in an antiques store?”
“Fashionable Memories,” she said at once, her eyes brightening. “It’s a great place.”
As she began to talk, the years fell away and Matt could remember sitting in the backyard by the pool, listening to her spin her dreams for the future. He was pretty sure that back then there had been more talk of Hollywood or piloting a jetliner than selling antiques.
“When did you develop this fondness for old things?” he asked. “I thought you wanted to be an actress or maybe a pilot.”
She laughed. “How on earth did you remember that? I’d almost forgotten. I guess by my senior year in high school I’d figured out I wasn’t cut out for the silver screen, since I never once got chosen for the school play. As for being a pilot, once I understood how much technology was involved, I realized I was more interested in seeing the world than in actually flying a plane.”
“It’s still a big leap from either of those careers to selling antiques,” Matt said.
“While I was in college, I used to wander around Georgetown when I had some free time. There was this great thrift shop next door to a coffee shop I liked. I started poking around in there, looking for things to decorate my dorm room. One day I found a piece of porcelain. Even under all the grime, something about it made me think it might be valuable. I paid a few bucks for it, cleaned it up, then took it up the street to Fashionable Memories. Marcel bought it from me for a hundred dollars, then sold it for twice that. He told me he’d buy any other treasures I stumbled across. Next thing I knew, I was haunting thrift stores and going to flea markets and garage sales all over town. He suggested I start taking some appraisal courses. When I graduated, he offered me a job.”
She grinned at him. “Believe it or not, that’s the short version.”
“And the long version?”
“You don’t want to hear it. I go on and on about the thrill of the hunt, about trying to discover the history behind a particular piece, about feel
ing connected to the past. It’s pretty boring stuff.”
Matt gazed into her shining eyes and felt that familiar spark of desire, that tug of longing to know everything that went on in her head. She had the kind of enthusiasm that was contagious. “I can’t imagine anything you have to say ever being boring,” he said honestly.
“Then one of these days before I go back to Washington, I’ll take you with me to explore a few thrift shops around this area. I guarantee I’ll have you pleading for mercy by lunchtime,” she promised, barely stifling a yawn.
Matt laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.” He stood up. “I really do need to get out of here and let you get some sleep.” He searched her face. “Think you can now?”
She nodded slowly, looking vaguely surprised. “Actually, yes. Thank you.”
“For what? Making you sleepy?”
She stood up and touched his cheek. “No, for distracting me for a little while.”
“My pleasure. I’ll be back in the morning. If you need anything in the meantime, my home number’s on the back of this card.” He handed it to her, noting the beginnings of a smile tugging on her lips. “What?”
“Matt Atkins, Chief of Police,” she said with a shake of her head. “I guess we really are all grown-up now.”
He shrugged. “So they say.” For the last few hours, he’d felt like a teenager again, awkward and uncertain in the presence of a girl on which he’d had a secret crush forever.
When she reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek, he turned so that her lips brushed his. It was just a fleeting, unexpected caress, but it was enough to send fire shooting through his veins.
When he looked into Emma’s eyes, he saw by her startled reaction that the kiss had done something to her, too. Then her gaze turned shuttered, as if she’d suddenly remembered that her father had just died, and Matt cursed himself for being a jerk. The woman was in mourning and he was sneaking kisses just to prove something to himself.
And what had he proved? That he could coax a reaction from her? That he still felt a powerful pull where Emma Killian was concerned? Or simply that he was about as sensitive as a sledgehammer?
He considered apologizing, then decided that would make way too much of what had been little more than a friendly peck on the lips.
“Get some sleep,” he ordered brusquely instead.
“You, too. You must be exhausted.”
He had been, but then he’d met Emma at the airport and he’d caught a second wind. “I’m used to long hours.”
“But not to finding a friend drowned in the lake, I imagine,” she said quietly, a quaver in her voice as if the haunting image had lodged in her head.
“No, not to that,” he agreed. “Don’t focus on that, Emma. It doesn’t do any good.”
“How can I not?” she asked wistfully. “I’m afraid when I close my eyes that’s what I’ll see. It’s just been words up till now, but I’m afraid if I try to sleep, I’ll see what you saw.”
To be honest, Matt shared the same fear. The scene was indelibly inscribed in his head. Even without having been the one to pull Don from that car, he’d seen him in the murky water, still and lifeless. If it had been horrifying for him, how much worse would it be for Emma? Thank God he’d been the one to discover Don, and not someone in the family who would be haunted by the image forever.
“Come on, then,” he said, making a decision.
Swearing to himself that this was not a totally self-serving act, he led the way into the living room and pulled Emma down on the sofa beside him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, but she didn’t resist. “Matt, you don’t need to stay. You need to go home and get some sleep.”
“I can pretty much sleep in any position, especially after being up more than twenty-four hours straight,” he said, gently tugging her until her head was resting against his shoulder. “Now, go to sleep. I’ll be right here, if you start to have nightmares.”
“I can’t let you do this,” she protested sleepily, but her eyes were already drifting closed.
Eventually he felt her relax against him, heard her breathing ease. Then, and only then, did he turn off the light and let himself fall asleep.
5
“Well, if this isn’t just fucking terrific!”
Emma was awakened by the sound of Jeff’s disgusted voice. “What’s going on?” she mumbled sleepily. She squinted and caught a glimpse of her brother’s outraged expression. “Jeff? Is everything okay?”
She felt something shift beneath her and realized that she was resting not against a pillow in her own bed, but against Matt’s chest. At her sudden movement, he groaned and stirred.
“Dad’s dead, and the two of you are making it in the living room,” Jeff accused. “Yeah, looks to me like life’s just peachy, at least for you.”
“We are not making it,” Emma said calmly, straightening her blouse as she stood up. Jeff was clearly looking for someone on whom to take out his anger. She refused to let him goad her into such a ridiculous fight.
“You could have fooled me,” Jeff said. “Dad thought you were such a saint. I guess now that he’s gone, the truth’s out.”
Emma fought against the tide of hurt that crashed over her at the reminder that her father was dead. Somehow during the night, wrapped in Matt’s arms, that reality had slipped away. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was Matt who filled the silence.
“Don’t speak to your sister that way,” he ordered curtly, scowling at Jeff. “You owe her an apology.”
“For what? Telling her the truth?”
“Nothing happened here, Jeff,” Matt said quietly, “and you know it. We’re both fully clothed. And don’t you think if we were making it, as you put it, we’d have gone someplace a little more private and comfortable? Your sister was upset. I stayed. End of story.”
Emma saw the anger and confusion in Jeff’s eyes and knew that what he was really upset about had nothing to do with finding her in Matt’s arms on the living room sofa. He might be twenty, but he was still a scared kid who’d just lost his dad. She could certainly relate to that. Her father’s death had shaken her world to its very foundation, and she was six years older and had been on her own for some time now.
Determined to fix things between them, she crossed the room and hugged Jeff tightly. At first he simply stood there, rigid and unresponsive.
“Have you shed even one tear?” she asked him, rubbing his back as she’d seen her mother do when Jeff was little and came home fighting tears after some schoolyard incident.
“I’m not crying over him!” he retorted furiously, every muscle still tense. “I’m not. He was on my case all the time. Why should I be sorry he’s dead.”
“Jeff, he was our dad. Sure you fought. All kids fight with their parents, but there’s no denying that you’ve lost someone very important to you. It’s natural to feel some anger, because this is the last thing any of us were expecting to happen, but you also have a right to be sad.”
His lip quivered then, but he fought it. When tears welled up in his eyes, he turned away. “I am not crying,” he said staunchly.
She bit back a grin at the brave words. “Okay, then, how about going into the kitchen and starting breakfast while I take a shower?”
“Alone?” he asked, the bitterness back in his voice as he scowled in Matt’s direction.
“Yes, alone,” she said, giving him a smack on his arm. “Stop acting like such a jerk. You know perfectly well nothing’s going on between Matt and me. Matt’s been like a big brother to all of us. Now, go.”
She turned to find Matt staring after Jeff, his expression worried. Or was that some other emotion in his eyes? Sorrow, possibly?
“You’re going to have to keep an eye on him,” he warned, turning back to her at last, his expression composed. “He’s furious and he hasn’t figured out what to do with all that rage yet.”
“I don’t think any of us have,” Emma responded, admitting for the first
time aloud that she, too, was furious. This should never have happened, and if her father was gone because he’d chosen to die, it would be a thousand times worse.
“Yes, but you’re not a twenty-year-old boy who’s still finding himself. I’ve been there,” Matt reminded her. “I know what the choices are and exactly how easy it is to make the wrong one.”
“You never made any bad choices,” Emma said.
Matt regarded her with a rueful grin. “Oh, yes, I did, but your dad was around to steer me back onto the right path. Jeff won’t have that kind of guidance.”
Emma deliberately met his gaze. “He’ll have you, won’t he?”
Matt looked momentarily taken aback that she was placing her faith in him, but then he nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can, but it won’t be the same. And based on the way things have gone here this morning, I’m not sure he’ll listen to me.”
Emma sighed. “No, it won’t be the same, but it will be more than good enough. Jeff idolized you once. When he calms down, he’ll turn to you. I’m counting on that.”
Their gazes remained locked for what seemed an eternity before Matt finally looked away. When he looked back, there was a once familiar spark of mischief in his eyes.
“You know, Jeff did have an interesting idea a minute ago,” he said mildly.
“Oh?” she said, instantly suspicious.
“You know that shower you’re about to take? We could cut expenses and save on water, if I were to join you.”
Emma laughed at the outrageous suggestion, though the sound of her voice seemed a little unsteady, even to her. More than once since she’d returned there had been this little shock of awareness with Matt, something that proved he no longer fit neatly into that surrogate big brother slot she’d always kept him in.
“In your dreams, Atkins,” she said tartly, trying to mentally push him back where he belonged.
He murmured something as she left the room, something that sounded a little like, “You’ve got that right.”
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