by Maya Banks
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. Pull your head out of your ass, for God’s sake.”
Greer chuckled, suddenly feeling a little lighter. “You do have a way with words, Tagg.”
“Well Christ, you’re getting positively moody on me.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m a dumbass.”
For a moment, his gaze flickered back to Sean’s grave, and a spasm of pain squeezed his heart.
“I miss him, man,” he said softly.
Taggert followed his gaze to the headstone, his expression sad. “I miss him too. He was too young to die.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emily woke in darkness, her senses more alert than they’d been in a long time. For a moment she just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, tears crowding her eyes. How easily they came now when before they’d been locked behind an impenetrable barrier.
Strangely, she didn’t hurt quite as much as she had. In some ways she supposed it had been like cutting a festering sore to allow the infection to drain away. Poison. It had built in her system until she’d been staggered by her grief and pain.
She turned her head, seeking confirmation of the time, and gasped when she saw a dark outline by the window. He turned when he heard her, and it was then she saw it was Greer, pale moonlight spilling over his solemn features.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said quietly.
She couldn’t very well say he hadn’t since her heart still pounded like a jackhammer.
“What are you doing here?”
She rubbed her throat when the words came out in a barely audible croak. She’d really done a number on her voice. Frank would have had a heart attack if he could hear her.
Her hand froze as she thought about Frank—and the fact she hadn’t talked to him in nearly a year. She’d been too busy running.
Greer flipped the lamp on, illuminating the bed in its soft glow. He sat on the edge and turned, sliding one knee onto the mattress as he stared down at her.
She swallowed nervously and wrung her fingers until they were numb. He looked so serious. So grave. This was the first time she’d really faced him since that day four years ago when she’d blurted out her feelings. No wonder he and Taggert had reacted the way they did. It hadn’t been well done of her at all. Nearly hysterical after the confrontation with her father, she’d felt as though her options had run out.
How many times had she wished she could have that day back?
Greer picked up her ravaged fingers and brought them to his lips. He kissed each one, his eyes glowing vibrantly in the light.
She watched in fascination at the tenderness he displayed, at the regard that went beyond simple affection for a girl he once knew. For a sister-in-law.
She couldn’t wrap her brain around it. First Taggert with his declaration of love—had she imagined it? Was she finally losing what was left of her mind?
Why now?
The same question echoed over and over. What had changed?
“Do you want me to stay with you, Emmy?”
His warm, husky voice vibrated over her skin, leaving her awash in want. Need. So much need.
“Because if I stay, I’m going to make love to you.”
She swallowed and then her lips parted in surprise. Torment blazed in his eyes. Guilt. Why guilt? Did he feel like he was betraying Sean? Should she feel like it was betrayal?
Closing her eyes against the sudden rush of tears, she bit her bottom lip to stem the tide of emotion that bubbled in her throat. She had no business making promises with her body that her shattered mind couldn’t keep.
But oh how she longed to say yes. To give in to the craving for his touch.
“I suppose you think it makes me a bastard that you’re here crying—grieving—over Sean and all I can think of is making love to you,” he said harshly.
She hung her head but shook it slowly. Gathering her courage—courage she hadn’t possessed since the day she’d left her father’s rage to confess her feelings to the Donovan brothers—she looked back up, trying to infuse strength into her spine.
“We need to talk,” she said softly. “About a lot of things. Taggert needs to be here.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
Was it relief she saw in his eyes? She supposed she sounded positively sane compared to the way she’d functioned for so long. She’d surprised even herself with her calm and firmness.
She glanced at the clock and saw that it was three in the morning. Had Greer been standing there at the window all night? He looked tired, but more than that, he looked older than she remembered. The kind of old you got by experience, not by true age. He looked as weary as she felt.
“I’m hungry,” she announced.
He cocked one eyebrow in surprise.
She offered a tremulous smile. It was true, much to her shock. In fact, she was starving.
“Buck’ll be pissed that we invaded his kitchen,” he said with a grin.
“I want some peanut butter toast,” she said wistfully. “And a tall glass of cold milk.”
“Come on.” He stood and held a hand down to her.
She let him pull her up and then noticed she was wearing just his shirt. With Buck due in the kitchen in an hour, not to mention the ranch hands that would be in for breakfast and to collect their sack lunches, she could hardly run around like this.
She extricated her fingers from Greer’s hand and dug into her bag for a pair of sweatpants. As she pulled them on, Greer watched her, frowning.
“We need to take you into town so you can buy some clothes and other stuff you need.”
She shrugged and nodded. Everything she had was still in the apartment. Taggert and Greer had said they’d take care of having her stuff stored, and to be honest, she had no emotional connection to it. She’d moved there with the basics, only what she could carry herself, and the rest she’d had delivered to the apartment. It could all rot for all she cared.
“We’ll go after breakfast.”
Again she nodded and then followed him out of the bedroom. Her step was lighter, and for once she didn’t feel overwhelming fatigue at the idea of facing the day.
Greer turned on the light in the kitchen, and she went to the pantry to dig out the huge bulk-sized can of peanut butter. Snagging a loaf of bread, she retreated and set the items on the counter while she fished in the drawer for a knife and a spoon.
Greer set the sugar bowl in front of her, and she grinned her thanks.
“Want some?” she asked.
He gave her a horrified look. “I’ll just eat plain butter toast.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
She slathered a generous amount of peanut butter on both pieces of bread and then sprinkled several spoonfuls of sugar over the surface. Behind her, Greer turned the oven on broil, and when she was done, he opened it for her to slide the toast onto the rack.
While she watched her toast, he popped his bread into the toaster then leaned against the counter watching her.
When the peanut butter began to bubble and the sugar caramelized just slightly, she reached in with her fork and pulled the toast to the edge of the rack before sliding it onto a waiting plate.
Greer got a glass down, handed it to her and took her plate to set it down on the bar. After pouring milk, she slid onto a barstool across from where Greer stood buttering his toast.
“I never could understand how anyone could eat that,” he said as he eyed her concoction.
She took a careful bite so as not to burn her lips and sighed in contentment.
“It was always Sean and mom’s favorite.”
She swallowed and nodded, willing the food not to get stuck in her throat.
“He made it for me,” she said softly.
Greer turned his attention back to his toast and then tossed the knife into the sink.
Uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Emily ate mechanically, trying to savor the comfortable taste, b
ut the more she chewed, the more difficulty she had forcing the gooey peanut butter down.
She chased the first piece down with half a glass of milk and shoved the saucer away, giving up on finishing. Whatever spark that had ignited her hunger was doused by the memory of Sean standing in the kitchen licking peanut butter off the knife as he made her toast.
“What are you two doing up?” Taggert asked as he ambled into the kitchen.
Her gaze tracked down his torso at the faded T-shirt and well-worn jeans that clung to his body, outlining his lean hardness. If she remembered right, he was still wearing what he had on the night before, which meant he hadn’t been to bed.
A glance at his tired eyes confirmed her suspicions. He and Greer both looked tired. And worried.
“Emily was hungry,” Greer said. “We came down before Buck took over and barred everyone from the premises.”
Taggert grunted and took a seat next to Emily. He glanced sideways at her saucer. “You gonna eat that?”
She smiled faintly and slid the plate along with her half-full glass of milk at him. She stole a look at Greer as Taggert wolfed down the toast. There was an impatient set to his stance as if he was being held up and didn’t like it.
Before, in the bedroom, when she’d looked into his eyes, she’d found the courage to speak up, to state the need for them to talk, and she’d had every intention of asking the questions that burned in her mind. But now, faced with both of them, her courage waned.
Another peek at Greer told her that he was as ill at ease as she was. The least she could do was meet this head-on and quit hiding. She’d done enough of that in the last year.
She cleared her throat, swallowing some of the soreness away, and then she massaged it with her hand, more in a gesture of nervousness than an attempt at comfort.
“We need to talk.”
She glanced sideways at Taggert as she spoke so he’d know she was including him.
He set the now-empty glass down in front of him and turned those dark eyes on her. There was cautious reserve set deep in the brown pools. Almost like he was building himself up for what was coming.
Now that she had their attention she had no idea what to say. She licked her lips and opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“I—”
The back door slammed, and she jerked around in her seat to see Buck standing there, his eyebrows up as he looked at her and then the others.
“What in Sam Hill are y’all doing up at this hour? Breakfast won’t be on the table for another hour.”
Taggert looked guiltily down at the empty saucer in front of him then hastily shoved it toward Greer. Emily’s shoulders shook. Taggert looked like an errant child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“I can still eat,” Taggert said.
Buck snorted. “Of course you can. You’ve still got one hollow leg to fill. It’s a wonder your parents didn’t go bankrupt trying to feed you boys.”
Emily stole another peek at Greer, who looked even more annoyed. His gaze told her that the interruption was not welcome, that he was seething with impatience, that he was tired of waiting.
Buck’s appearance was a welcome reprieve to her.
“You going to eat?” Buck asked her as he dug into the cabinets for the pans he needed.
She started to shake her head but stopped when she met three disapproving stares. “Uh, okay,” she agreed. More wouldn’t kill her, and who knew, maybe it would go down better than the toast.
Buck puttered around the kitchen, efficiently preparing a breakfast large enough to serve the half dozen hands that lived on the ranch. Emily avoided the gazes of Greer and Taggert. She needed all the courage she could muster, and she wasn’t going to waste it on a few stolen glances.
The hands filed inside just as the first rays of light filtered through the kitchen window. The foreman Rand stopped at Emily’s stool and smiled at her.
“It’s good to see you again, Miss Emily. It’s been a long time.”
She smiled. Rand had always been polite, extremely courteous and shy around her.
“Hello, Rand.”
“Will you be visiting long?”
She stilled, unsure of how to answer his question. Of course he’d assume she was visiting. The ranch had never actually been her home even if she’d spent most of her time here when she was younger.
“She’s not leaving,” Taggert said in his don’t-argue-with-me voice.
It certainly seemed as if he were sending her a message rather than answering Rand’s innocent question.
Rand smiled and nodded. “Welcome home, then.”
“Thank you.”
The hands called out their greetings, some of them echoing Rand’s welcome home. There weren’t any new faces. The most recent hire had been years ago when Emily was still a permanent fixture at the ranch.
Taggert and Greer were good men to work for. Their hands’ longevity was a testament to that.
Taggert’s words lingered in her mind. He didn’t want her to go. Greer didn’t want her to go. But did she have a future here? And in what capacity did they want her to stay? Greer had been blunt. He wanted her. What did she want? What did she need?
God, but she missed Sean’s smile. His understanding. The way he made love to her. The way he made her feel. She tried so hard not to feel guilty. He wouldn’t want her to. He’d be the last person to want her to languish over his memory. Unfortunately, knowing it and practicing it were not the same. Not when every waking moment reminded her that if she’d made different decisions so many lives wouldn’t have changed.
Lost in thought, she ate quietly, not really listening to the conversation around her. One by one, the hands got up, collected their sack lunches and disappeared out the back door to go to work.
“Make me a list, Buck, and we’ll pick up what you need while we’re in town,” Taggert said as he leaned back in his seat.
She blinked when Greer turned toward her.
“Go get dressed, Emmy,” he said. “You can ride in with us and do your shopping.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Greer had first suggested replacing her wardrobe, she hadn’t considered that it would mean going into Creed’s Pass. She hadn’t set foot in the town since she’d fled after Sean’s death.
Now she stood in front of the small all-purpose mercantile, her fists clenched at her sides as she glanced furtively down the main stretch of town.
Her gaze alighted on Tilly’s motel, and she flinched, closing her eyes in pain as that night came back. Her and Sean laughing. Walking along hand in hand from the corner café after dinner, returning to their room.
They hadn’t stayed at the ranch. They never did. Not since they’d married and the visits back had been so awkward. That was her fault. It was she who couldn’t bear to face Taggert and Greer and pretend that nothing had ever happened.
The man had come out of nowhere, the knife glinting in the light from the streetlamps. Sean stepped in front of her to fend off the attack and took the blade to his chest.
The attacker’s hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing as she screamed until he silenced her.
Alerted by her screams, several nearby people rushed into the street. Her attacker had dropped her but not the knife, and then he’d run. Never to be found. Was he still out there?
She’d dropped to Sean’s inert figure, her hands pressing against the terrible wound in his chest. Blood, so much of it, spilled onto the street.
He’d known. God, he’d known. He looked up at her with such love in his eyes. Then he’d told her he loved her before taking his last breath.
Her breath released in a silent stutter, and she squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to lose her composure.
“Emmy?”
Taggert’s concerned voice reached past the oppressive weight of her grief. She turned to see him standing there, his dark eyes filled with so much understanding it was nearly her undoing.
“I should have thought,” he sai
d. “We’ve been back into town so many times that I forgot this is your first time back.”
She shook her head as if somehow she could deny the agony that stabbed as sharp and as deep as the knife that had ended Sean’s life.
“I’m okay,” she managed to get out. “Let’s go in.”
He touched her arm reassuringly, and Greer opened the door so they could walk in.
She couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for clothes shopping. She chose a few pairs of jeans and simple T-shirts and browsed the two racks of dressier clothing, which were nothing more than nicer western shirts and a few denim skirts.
Wanting to be done with it, she piled the clothing over her arm and headed for the cashier. She stopped short when she saw her father standing at the register paying for his purchases.
His gaze swept over her. There was a brief flicker of recognition, but he turned away as if she were nothing more than a stranger. No acknowledgement, no greeting.
A knot formed in her throat. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t bother her one iota that the unfeeling bastard had snubbed her. He’d made his feelings plain a long time ago. She was dead to him. She just hadn’t expected him to act as if she were nothing at all.
Why should it be easy for him? Why should he get away with acting like an ass? She’d done nothing to deserve his scorn, and she was tired of feeling guilt for perceived wrongs. There were plenty of real ones without adding the imaginary kind.
“Dad,” she said evenly.
He froze, and for a moment, she thought he’d look at her again. His shoulders stiff, he collected his sack from the counter and turned away to walk toward the door.
“Nice to see you too,” she called.
He didn’t miss a step.
“Emmy, don’t,” Greer said, his voice hard. “Don’t put yourself through that. He’s an unforgiving bastard, and he’s not worth your breath.”
Her gaze followed her father until he disappeared from view. It shouldn’t hurt. No. But it did. Her own family didn’t accept her. Didn’t want her.