Breaking Emily's Rules

by Heatherly Bell

  “What do you think? Shouldn’t I go again? I’m feeling lucky,” Emily said to Jimmy.

  “I don’t think so, hon. Better quit while you’re ahead.” He handed Emily’s purse to her.

  If by “ahead” Jimmy meant still in one piece with a comforting lack of bloodletting, Stone would have to agree.

  She squirmed in his arms. “Way to ruin my night, guys. I guess I need a ride home.”

  “You think?” Stone carried her outside, managed to shift her weight so he could open the passenger door to his truck, lift her in and latch her seat belt.

  When he came around to the driver’s side, Emily studied him. “Dang, you’re so bossy. You don’t need to take me home. Jimmy can do it.”

  Stone put the key in the ignition and turned to her. “I’ll do it.”

  “Of course you will, you party pooper.” She stuck her feet up on the dashboard.

  He pulled out of the parking lot. “What the hell is going on with you, anyway? Riding the bull when you have trouble walking and chewing gum?”

  “I’m trying something new.”

  But she didn’t fool him. There was sadness in those eyes that he hadn’t seen there before. She definitely wasn’t telling him something. He’d bet it had to do with the ex-fiancé, and if it had to do with that asshole, Stone wasn’t sure he wanted to hear about it anyway.

  Emily popped on the radio, changing his preprogrammed stations until she got to the country channel. “Oh, I love this song!”

  She proceeded to sing off-key to “You Should Have Kissed Me” and pointed a finger in his direction every time the song hit the refrain. He didn’t like country music when it was sung in tune, let alone Emily’s rendition. Hopefully she sang better when she was sober or he was fairly certain it wasn’t stage fright that had ended her country music career.

  Finally he reached her ranch, pulled up near the loft and came around to open the door for her.

  “Thanks for my ride, sailor. I’ll take it from here.”

  “You don’t have any shoes.” He stared at her feet.

  “What happened to my shoes?” She wiggled one foot.

  “I forgot to get those for you.”

  “That’s what happens when you hurry. You forget things. Let that be a lesson to you.”

  “Sue me. I wanted to get you out of there before you tried to do that again.” He pulled her up out of the seat and walked up the stairs to her loft.

  “I can walk barefoot. I was raised on a ranch.” But she smiled at him, batting her eyelashes. “You want to come in?”

  He did, and he didn’t. Coming inside meant it would be open season on teasing him, he had a good feeling. And he wasn’t even going to kiss a tipsy Emily, much less make love to her.

  He set her down just outside her front door. “It’s dark. Thought I couldn’t.”

  “Oh, I did away with all those old rules!” She opened the front door. “I have a new set. You coming?”

  Not likely, Stone thought. Still, he strode inside and shut the door. He took another glance at his surroundings. Cozy. Girly to the core. And yes, there was the bed in the same small room. Why he chose to torture himself this way he’d never know. He should turn around and walk out of there right now. He should say good-night, sleep tight and see ya tomorrow. But he couldn’t do any of those things because he was a glutton for punishment, Emily-style. Besides, Dad’s house was beginning to feel like one never-ending project. He’d start to paint a wall and discover a hole behind a picture frame that needed to be repaired first. Every project led to another one, and every corner of the house reminded him of Dad.

  At the same time, Stone refused to believe he had problems. He realized what real-world problems were, and fixing up an outdated and cluttered house for sale was not one of them. Neither was dealing with a pissed-off family member. These were minuscule baby problems.

  On the other hand. Emily.

  She was a bit of a problem for him. He’d started to understand that the pull she had on him was a little different. Of course, there was the unbridled lust she brought out of him, but there was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite quantify or figure out. He liked her. That much was clear. A whole hell of a lot. She made him laugh. Helped him to forget for a little while.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said now, taking off behind the closed door he assumed was the bathroom.

  Great. He could only hope she didn’t come out of there with fewer clothes on than when she went in, or all bets were off. He was a human being, and no saint. While he waited, he grabbed a seat next to a stuffed animal. He reached to move it and the thing squeaked and moved. It was not stuffed. Not at all.

  Emily swung the door open and came out, fully clothed, though, it didn’t help much. The thin pajama pants hugged her bottom and the tank top stretched across her breasts. “You met Pookie?”

  “Pookie? Does he usually stalk unsuspecting men? Sit still and pretend to be stuffed?”

  “You thought she was a stuffed animal?” She picked up the ball of fur, and the dog licked her face. “Pookie used to sleep outside with the other dogs, but she’s gotten too old. She doesn’t even move much these days, poor baby. Too much effort. I’m letting her inside with me from now on.”

  “I think she appreciates it.”

  Emily carried the dog like a football in one hand and went toward the fridge. “You want something to drink?”

  “I’m fine. I should probably—”

  “Go?” she turned to him, a water bottle in her hand. “I’m not drunk, you know.”

  “You’re not perfectly sober, either.” He stood.

  She set the dog down on her bed and came toward him. “Don’t go.”

  When she reached him, she put her arms around his waist, and it was natural to pull her even closer. “It isn’t that I don’t want to stay. It’s just—”

  “My rules?” She gazed at him, and something in his heart pinched.

  “You can do better than me.”

  “What if I don’t want better? What if you’re what I want? Right here, right now.”

  He swallowed hard, not at all used to refusing that kind of blatant invitation. Taking what he wanted. Right on this couch, consequences be damned. Not like he hadn’t done it before, time and time again, barely apologizing to the women as he walked out the door. They were all grown-ups, and adults fully aware of the temporary nature.

  But this was different. He wasn’t sure how, when or why he had begun to want more than no-strings sex. “Do you trust me? Because maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “I’m not sure why, but I do. I think it’s your eyes.” She pulled on his hand and sat on the couch. “And I don’t want to be alone right now. Can’t you just stay with me a little while?”

  He sat again, instinctively drawing his arms around her. She sighed and nestled in. Cuddling. Who would have ever thought he’d have the patience for this?

  “This is nice,” Emily said, her head on his chest. “So nice.”

  “Yeah.” Could she feel his heart as it raced at Mach levels? What would be nice would be to show her what he could do with his tongue.

  Within a few minutes, Emily made a sweet sound in the back of her throat and her breaths had become slow and even. She was dozing on him. The girl trusted him so much she fell asleep in his arms, when he didn’t think he could trust himself. This time, instead of the direct line to his groin, the surge of electricity happened a little too close to his heart for comfort.

  Shit, he was in such trouble.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  STONE COULDN’T AVOID the walls any longer. He had to paint. The Realtor he and Sarah had agreed on would put the for-sale sign up this week, and no one wanted a house that was stuck in early eighties decor.

  Last week at Builde
r’s Emporium, the clerk had recommended something called Dakota Loam. He didn’t have the foggiest idea whether it was the so-called trendy earth-tone decor the clerk had said it was, because it looked like brown to him. Spending the past ten years in military housing meant he didn’t pay much attention to the color scheme of his surroundings. It didn’t matter when it was all so temporary.

  This, on the other hand, didn’t feel temporary. These were Dad’s walls. It felt like he should take great care with the color he put on these walls.

  He trudged into the family room, carrying the gallon of paint. “It’s just you and me, wall. Let’s get it on.”

  A couple of hours later, he had taped the room and laid plastic over the worn carpet. Another thing to replace; although, the Realtor believed they could sell the house without replacing it. He stirred the stick in the thick paint and then heard a knock on the front door. With any luck, Crash and Matt had gotten a clue and would be here to help him, maybe even with a beer or two.

  But no, when he opened the door, who should be on the other side of it but the woman who wanted everything. “What now?”

  Sarah pushed by him, the old Mcallister temper being the one thing she’d inherited from dear old Dad. “I’m done playing it your way. He was my father, too.”

  “Fine, come on in. Don’t let me stop you. As you can see, the place is lovely. Thinking maybe I’ll bring Better Homes and Gardens in here for a spread.” He waved his arm.

  “What the hell is that?” Sarah pointed past him toward the kitchen floor.

  When Winston slept in the hallway, he looked like a huge and dirty heap of a throw rug. “That’s Dad’s dog. Winston.”

  “That’s a dog?” She walked closer to Winston and bent down as if to inspect him.

  Winston lifted his head but took one look at Sarah, got up and lumbered into the back bedroom. Probably he was a whole lot smarter than Stone had ever given him credit for.

  “What is it you want? A tour of the place?” Did these look like the digs of a man who hoarded gold bullion? What the hell was wrong with his money-grubbing sister?

  “That might be nice.”

  He ignored that and marched back to his ready-as-ever wall because he was no damned museum docent.

  Sarah followed him. She stared at him, then at the wall. “You’re painting?”

  “It needs it.” He picked up the roller and laid it in the paint. “The whole house does. There’s a lot to be done around here.”

  “Don’t let me stop you or anything.”

  “Wasn’t going to.”

  She let out a deep sigh, the kind women gave when they wanted your attention but wouldn’t say why. The kind that usually meant you were about to get an earful, like it or not. “I’ve decided I want to help you get the house sellable. Are you going to let me?”

  “Do I have a choice?” He slathered on the first coat. Brown. What the hell. Since when did they call brown Dakota Loam? He’d been right in the first place. This room would probably be way too dark now. Damn.

  “I wish you would talk to me.”

  “I am talking.”

  “In tiny three-word sentences. About stupid stuff. I want to talk about the big stuff, like how Mom and Dad made a big mistake. Whoever heard of such a child arrangement? Splitting up a family the way they did was criminal.”

  Stone stiffened. Had his sister just called their parents criminals? Hell, no. She hadn’t. As usual, civilians threw the word criminal around so much it lost its real meaning. “Criminal.”

  “Yeah. I’ve never heard of anyone else splitting up the kids in a divorce—you take one, I’ll take the other. You needed a mother, and I needed a father. We were both ripped off.”

  “Got it.” He didn’t disagree or agree. It was all damn water under the bridge.

  And this color was way too dark.

  “Why won’t you talk to me? Don’t you feel cheated, too?”

  He dropped the roller. “Cheated? Hell, no.”

  “Okay. So you didn’t miss having a mother. But I want to know more about my dad. I want to know about this town and why he moved here. What he thought about me, if he ever thought about me, and how he loved his children. Or I should say, his son.”

  And now she was crying in his family room. He didn’t do crying women. When a woman cried, he was usually watching her back as she walked out the door. He lifted a hand as if that could stop her. “Don’t.”

  Sarah plopped down on the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m not after anything. You called me to the reading of the will, like all I should want was my share. Like I wouldn’t have wanted to say goodbye to him first. Mom told me to hire the lawyer, and hell, after you both treated me the way you did I decided why the hell not? But I’m sick of fighting with you. You can sell the flight school to your buyer. I only wanted to remember him since I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  Stone reached for a box of tissues he’d bought to wipe up Winston’s constant slobbering and handed it to Sarah. He didn’t know whether he could trust her. She’d so quickly changed her mind after giving him such grief. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.” She pointed toward the wall with her tissue. “And by the way, that color is going to be way too dark for this room.”

  Damn.

  * * *

  A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, Stone had just hopped out of the shower when he heard someone pull up outside. Was Sarah back again?

  I am done with the crying for one day. First, he’d agreed to her choice of a lighter brown color for the walls. He’d gone back to the store and returned to find her waiting. Then he’d slathered the paint on while she watched from the sidelines, letting him know when he missed a spot.

  Later, he’d let her go through boxes of photos and albums as she tried to revisit the past. It turned out his sister found a certain kind of joy in going through one man’s junk that he couldn’t quite understand. But if she was willing to help him in that regard, he couldn’t very well argue, since it had taken him the better part of two months and he’d barely made a dent in it.

  Why Sarah enjoyed torturing herself by wallowing in what could never be altered, he’d never understand. He’d finally given her all the photo albums and told her she could come by again anytime. Promised that yes, they’d talk again. If he’d known that was all she wanted, they could have both avoided some grief and lawyer bills.

  And it was strange, having a sister again after all these years. The pictures were enlightening to him, too; though, he didn’t share that with Sarah. He’d almost forgotten the trips they’d taken together in the earlier years. Camping trips to Yosemite National Park and Lake Tahoe. Disneyland. Sarah seemed to get more emotional with each photo, and all that emotion was way over the top.

  He remembered his mother being the same way. She’d come to see him just before he’d shipped off to boot camp. Thrown herself at him, weeping and clutching. Cursed at his father for failing to stop Stone from signing up. He’d been disgusted at the time by her lack of self-control. It took him a few years to understand her position. Over the years, they’d kept in touch mostly via email. He understood that as a parent, she’d wanted to save him from some of what he’d seen and experienced. So did Dad, but he hadn’t resorted to emotional tactics. Instead, he’d tried to win Stone over with logic. The only problem was that logic was in Stone’s favor on all accounts. The air force was his best shot at an education.

  And by God, he’d received one.

  When the knocking persisted, Stone realized Sarah wasn’t going away. Typical. But when Stone opened the door, Emily stood on the other side. He hadn’t seen much of her since the night of the full mooning. The picture of her ass was still burned into his brain, and he doubted he would ever forget the image.

  “Hi,” she said. “Have you eaten yet? I brought you some dinner.”r />
  He took the packages from her and led her into the kitchen. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t mind. I felt like Trail Dust tonight, and it’s always too much food for me.”

  He opened one box to discover a full rack of ribs. “I can see why.”

  Winston chose that moment to lumber into the room, bowl in his jaws. Great. He’d forgotten to feed him dinner.

  Emily laughed. “He’s good at communicating, isn’t he?”

  “My bad.” Stone pried the bowl out of Winston’s jaws and stayed between Emily and Winston. “Watch yourself.” The last thing he needed was a repeat of the last performance, with Emily lying on the floor out of breath.

  The next time she lay anywhere breathless, it would be because of him, not the dog.

  “I’m not afraid of him.” Emily bent down to ruffle his head.

  Winston lifted moony eyes in Emily’s direction. Flirting.

  “You should be. I think he likes you.”

  Stone fed Winston, then brought out paper plates, utensils and napkins.

  Emily opened cartons of potato and macaroni salad and uncovered a loaf of baked bread. “Thank you, by the way.”

  “Why thank me? You brought the food.”

  She met his eyes. “For taking care of me last night.”

  “Ah.” Great. Like he was supposed to be some kind of hero because he helped pull her dress down and carried her out of there. Not like he hadn’t also taken a moment, okay, more than a moment, to enjoy the view. “Glad I could help.”

  She stopped serving to glance at him. “When I woke up the next morning on my couch, you were gone.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t want to wake you to say goodbye.” He sat on one of the stools at the counter and accepted his plate when she pushed it in his direction.

  She stood on the other side of the counter and they ate in silence for a few minutes, accompanied only by Winston’s somewhat pitiful sighs and begging eyes. Because, even though he’d just eaten a bowl of dry dog food, Winston was no fool. He recognized the good stuff when he smelled it.