Breaking Emily's Rules

by Heatherly Bell

  He got out of bed and pulled on his boxers and jeans.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I’m enjoying what?”

  He buttoned his shirt and rolled the sleeves to his elbows.

  Why were men so much sexier when they did that? She climbed out of bed, too, and searched for her bra and panties, pulling them on.

  “You like that I made the no-strings rules and you get to benefit from them.”

  “Hey, don’t blame me. I’m the one who thought it wasn’t a good idea.”

  She pulled her dress back on. “Guess what? You get to be right. The whole thing was crazy. I can’t do this. I tried, I really tried to be someone else, but I can’t help it if I’m reasonable, reliable Emily.”

  “And you and I—we’re not reasonable? We don’t make sense?” He shoved his boots back on, looking slightly irritated.

  “You said it. I didn’t.”

  “I was always honest with you.” He straightened to his full height. “I’m not a good long-term bet. The air force is my life, just like the ranch and your family is yours. I’ve tried, but I’m not half the man my father was.”

  “Why do you think you’re not as good as your father was?”

  “Let’s not do this.”

  “I’m sorry, we’re doing it.”

  He looked surprised, his eyebrow quirking again, but he didn’t say a word.

  “You care about this town, and not just because your father did. You didn’t have to keep Winston, and life would have been easier if you didn’t. You could have walked away from the school and let it go to the highest bidder, but you wanted to save their jobs. And you didn’t have to keep flying for Pilots and Paws, but you did.”

  He looked at the ground, shaking his head. “Okay, that whole thing was—”

  “Your father’s pet project. Flying adopted dogs to their new homes. It’s a good cause. And you’re a good man. Just like your father was.”

  “The best thing you can say about me is that I’m loyal to the core to the few things I care about. But I won’t hesitate to make the tough choices when I get a chance to make them. The ones no one else wants to make.”

  “That doesn’t make you a horrible person.”

  “I’m not saying that I can’t put up a good front, and I may have fooled everyone here. But if I had been able to do the right thing with you, I wouldn’t be here right now. I would have had the strength to turn you down and stay away.”

  “You go on believing that if it makes you feel better. But not long ago you told me you thought I was angry, and you were right. I didn’t think it was okay to feel that way for a long time so I kept in inside. Truthfully? I think you’re still grieving.”

  “Look—”

  “I know a little bit about losing a parent. I might have been a child when it happened, but I still thought there must have been something I could have done. For a while, I thought it was my fault. My fault she died because I hadn’t kept my room clean, hadn’t finished eating all my vegetables, hadn’t been a good enough little girl. I think deep down you think you could have done more for him. I don’t know what it is, but you’re hanging on to something that’s eating you up.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Of course you don’t. Because we’re getting somewhere. I’m getting to the bottom of what makes you tick, and you don’t like it.” She stabbed a finger into his chest.

  He stared her down then and even if she’d found new courage, that look in his eyes made her retreat. “Listen. We did what you wanted. And maybe now we’re finally out of each other’s systems.”

  Ouch. “Out of my system? Is that what you think?”

  “We’ve been dancing around each other since the first night we met. ‘Just the sex’ is what you said, if I remember right. And I’m guessing now we’re done.” He moved toward the front door.

  Shit, he can be an asshole when he wants to be. “If that’s what you want, we’re done.”

  “It isn’t about what I want. It’s about what has to be done. Always. You belong here in Fortune with your family. And I belong with mine.”

  The air force, not his sister.

  “Don’t bother saying goodbye when you go.”

  For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of surprise or pain in his eyes. But then they shifted again back to the tired edginess she’d grown accustomed to recently. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s about what needs to be done.” She shoved his words back at him.

  “Yeah. And you’re a quick study.” He turned and walked out.

  Emily stared at the door for a few minutes. Stone’s truck door slammed shut. Pookie was at Emily’s ankle, whimpering. Funny that she could hear anything at all with her heartbeat thudding in her ears. Emily understood hurt and loss. Even if her heart had been broken for the first time at eleven with the biggest loss of her life, she wasn’t sure why this moment honestly felt like the first time.

  “It’s okay, Pookie.” Emily picked up her little dog and buried her face in her fur. “We’ll be all right. We always are.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  NICE, IDIOT, VERY NICE.

  He’d done it up right, practically twisting the knife in her back. We’re done. Effectively telling her she’d been nothing but a quick and satisfying lay. It was what she thought she wanted, so it had become easy to throw it back in her face. Even if he knew better. It wasn’t what she wanted. Not even what he wanted.

  They’d both failed miserably at keeping it light. And he’d known from the moment she walked into his office that it wouldn’t be easy. Having understood that, he’d still plunged in headfirst.

  More like heart-first.

  She was dangerous. Like a full-blown addiction. The giving of killer orgasms shouldn’t give a girl insight into his mind, but she’d done it. Like a ninja she’d broken through his defenses and next she’d try to fix him. He didn’t need her to fix him. If something was broken, he’d fix it himself.

  Had always been that way, and always would be.

  Of course, she was right, too, which severely pissed him off. With all he’d had to deal with in the aftermath of Dad’s death, Stone hadn’t allowed himself any time to grieve. And while James Mcallister had always been his personal hero, he’d been forced to deal with the fact that his father made plenty of huge mistakes. And left Stone with the emotional mess to clean up.

  Too bad he couldn’t be angry with his old man right now, but if he could, he’d ask what the hell he’d been thinking. Sarah deserved a goodbye. He drove savagely through town, all rolled up now since it was past six on a Sunday night, and gripped the steering wheel till his knuckles were white. The truth was something he didn’t want to face, but he was also not a coward.

  No retreat. No surrender.

  He pulled off the side of the road and went for his cell phone. “Hey.”

  “Stone?” Sarah answered. “Is everything all right?”

  “No, it’s not. It’s shitty.”

  “What happened?”

  He didn’t know where to begin. “You were right. I should have—I should have called you and Mom. I should have ignored what Dad told me to do. Sometimes when people are sick, they don’t always make the best decisions. And I—”

  “It’s okay—”

  “Let me talk. I wish now I would have told you everything. He didn’t want you to see him that way. It isn’t easy to watch someone slowly wither away from a strong and able man to a living corpse. It was ugly. Painful. Hard to watch someone you love die and not be able to do a damn thing about it.”

  “Especially for you, I imagine.” Her voice was soft.

  “But no one has the right to take that choice away. He was
wrong. You should have been told. Mom, too. She was married to the man for ten years. I’m sure she still cared about him.”

  “She used to say James Mcallister is the kind of man you never forget.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry, Sarah. If it means anything to you now.”

  “More than you know.”

  He dragged a hand through his hair, pissed beyond words. He’d failed this mission. “Nah, it’s not good enough. But it will have to do.”

  “It’s life, Stone. None of us ever get out of this alive.”

  Stone choked on a laugh. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “Just one of the many crazy sayings I remember from Dad.” She laughed.

  “He was the king of them. I thought it sounded familiar. It’s not any funnier coming out of your mouth.”

  “Can I ask you something? Are you really leaving town? Because, from what I’ve seen so far, you fit here. This is a small place, and everyone I meet seems to know you. Danny from the Emporium, the barista at The Drip and the waitress at the diner. They all say you’re a good guy.”

  Yeah, he’d done a great job of playing the part. Saving the airport jobs. Flying for Pilots and Paws. For a while, at least, he’d succeeded in putting his own desires in the background knowing all along he’d be back to his life soon enough. But he’d just done the last thing he’d ever wanted to do. Hurt Emily.

  “No. I can’t stay. I’m going back to the air force.”

  “And—does she know that?”

  How the hell did Sarah know? He thought about the fact that he already had firsthand experience with how the people in this town couldn’t stop talking. “Yeah. She knows.”

  And on that note, Stone hung up with Sarah and drove home to get properly smashed.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Stone woke up with patches of morning light sifting through the kitchen window. He was on the floor with Winston on his stomach, snoring. One eye open, Stone glanced around and zeroed in on his surroundings. Yep, he was on his kitchen floor where he’d fed Winston a bowl of food the previous night. While he ate, Stone had gulped down a thousand beers. Or so it seemed, if he were to judge by the Grand Canyon–like size of his headache.

  He moved Winston off his stomach and pulled himself up, trying to get the brain in gear. Emily. Damn, he was such a pathetic, sad fool. He’d hurt her, lied to her and walked away. A real dickhead move on his part. He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his life, but he wasn’t sure he could ever fix this.

  The doorbell rang, and Winston rose from his slumber, skittering into the back room like his tail was on fire.

  “You know what? I’m not going to make fun of you anymore. So you’re afraid of doorbells. There are worse things.”

  Stone glanced at his watch. Nine in the morning.

  He opened the door to find Sarah behind it. “Holy hell, what happened to you?”

  You should see the other guy, he wanted to say. Instead he went for the truth. “Your kind has done her damage.”

  He waved her in, and she stepped inside. “A woman.”

  “Good guess.” He walked back to the kitchen and she followed. “Want some coffee?”

  “Thanks.” Sarah found a place on one of the stools. “Um, so is this your girlfriend we’re talking about?”

  “I’m not talking about it.” He put one heaping tablespoon after another into the coffee filter.

  Sarah scowled. “Of course you’re not. I wasn’t sure you had one, that’s all.”

  “I don’t.” The coffee would be extra-strong today, and he hoped Sarah wouldn’t choke on it or anything.

  “Ouch. Sorry.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sarah shifted in her stool. “You probably wonder why I’m here.”

  “You want to talk about Dad.”

  Sarah looked flustered for a minute, shaking her head and throwing up a hand. “No. Here’s the thing. I’ve got an idea, and I don’t want you to just reject it the minute you hear it. Think about it, give it some time. Let it sink in. It’s not such a horrible idea once you get to know it.”

  Sarah was apparently working on her word count for the day. “Were you planning on telling me this idea sometime this century?”

  “I was thinking, you know, why don’t I just buy the house?”

  He didn’t picture Sarah as someone who would want to live in Fortune. “You want to buy Dad’s house? Why the hell would you want that? You’re aware it’s a fixer-upper.”

  “I talked to my attorney. The way we’d do it is I would buy you out. We’d go with the price we set to sell it, which is fair, considering all the work it needs.”

  “You mean you’re going to stay in Fortune?”

  “Maybe. At least for a while.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “If you’re serious, I think it’s a great idea.”

  “You do?” She looked surprised, like she thought he might prefer a stranger to have this house. Why would he want that when his sister could live here? Dad would have loved the idea.

  “But you’ll need to keep Winston, too.” He cleared his throat. “He comes with the house.”

  “I’m more of a cat person, but okay. So we’ll take the house off the market today. I’ll call the Realtor, and we can work out the details.” She pulled a cell phone out of her purse.

  “Are you sure you want to live here? Didn’t Mom want you to go back to Fort Collins?”

  “This will give her an excuse to come out. You two can visit.”

  He’d like to see his mother again. He’d dropped in on her rarely over the years when he could, but it had been a long time. “She better come out soon or I’ll miss her. I’m expecting orders.” Winston had lumbered back into the kitchen, and sat on Stone’s foot.

  “Do you know when that will be?’

  “Any day now.”

  “We’ll make the most of the time we have left before you take off.”

  “It’s been too long since we were all together.”

  Their odd custody arrangement hadn’t been the brightest idea either of his parents had ever had, but something told him, like most people, they’d done the best they could. They’d also loved each other at one time, presumably. He understood now love wasn’t ever easy. Sometimes good intentions paved the way to hell. Because he’d been unable to stay away from Emily, he’d done the last thing he wanted to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LUANNE HINCKLE WAS a regular at The Hair-Em, but Molly didn’t usually attend to her. It generally wasn’t a good idea to work on Grammy’s friends, but when Luanne showed up for a walk-in on Thursday, Molly was the only attendant available.

  “I want periwinkle red,” Luanne said, touching her short white curls. “I want to look just like Ann-Margret. Can you do that, sweetie?”

  “Sure thing. Let me mix it up.”

  About thirty minutes later, Molly checked the color. As close to Ann-Margret as any mere mortal could attempt.

  “Let’s get you shampooed.” Molly walked Luanne over to the bowl bassinet and ran the water until it was warm. The worst part of this job had to be the shampoos. She often wished people would walk in with wet hair and just let her do the cutting and styling. That was her real talent.

  It certainly wasn’t entertaining her daughter, as the past few times she’d been to visit Sierra, she’d cried every time Dylan walked out of the room. Dylan, for his part, was about as warm to Molly as a Frosty Freeze shake. But, as Grammy and Emily reminded her often, Molly had to be patient.

  “Honey, any chance Emily’s done working on herself yet and might go out with my grandson The Doctor?” Luanne asked, eyes closed as the water ran through her hair.

  Molly tried not to snicker at the way Luanne talked about her grandson The Doctor like it was some kin
d of new invention everyone should try at least once. Emily was working on herself, all right—working on achieving multiple orgasms if the spring in her step and the pink in her cheeks were any indication. And the man responsible for those orgasms was someone who looked like he could be the spokesperson for them.

  For the first time since Molly could remember, it would seem Emily was having a whole lot more fun than Molly. That was okay. For now. “I don’t think so, but you’d have to ask her.”

  “I will next time I see her. But she’s missed the last few genealogical meetings. It’s been an ugly thing. Julia took over the computer searches now, too. It feels like a dictatorship. Honestly.”

  “Uh-huh.” Molly concentrated on massaging Luanne’s scalp. This was always a good time to work out some of her tension.

  “Ouch. Not so hard, dear. And how’s that little baby girl of yours?”

  Just like that, Molly eased up on her scalp. Her baby girl. She had a smile that made Molly go a little weak. “She’s so smart. She talks a lot. I’m actually starting to understand some of it, too.”

  “Baby talk. Only Mommy and Daddy understand it.”

  “And Grandma,” Conchita added from the shampoo sink next to Molly’s.

  Speaking of which, she had to get Sierra over to visit Grammy sometime soon. Both she and Emily wanted to spend more time with Sierra. So far Molly hadn’t left the house with her, not even to take her to the park. Dylan and his rules. But unless she was kidding herself, he did seem a little more relaxed around her these days. Occasionally she’d glance his way to catch him staring at her before he’d quickly looked away.

  “How often are you getting that baby, Molly?” Conchita asked, pouring conditioner in her hands.

  “Three times a week. I’m seeing her this afternoon.” Molly patted Luanne’s hair and wrapped it in a towel.

  “Why only three times a week?” Conchita asked. “You’re that baby’s mother.”

  “I’m letting Dylan call the shots for now,” Molly said. “Soon enough, I’ll be able to watch her while he works.”

  “What kind of nonsense is this?” Conchita scowled. “You mean you’re not even good enough to babysit? He has to be there when you visit her? Like supervised visits?”