Straight on Toward Paradise

by Kristin Wallace

The warmth of the moment turned cold. “Why don’t you girls go wash up, and then go give my mom a hand?”

  Paige glanced toward the door, excitement rising in her eyes, but then she hesitated and surveyed the damage left by the flour fight. “We could stay and help you.”

  The offer was sweet, especially considering how much Paige loved the prop room, but the closeness of a moment ago had already evaporated.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Emma said, trying to contain her disappointment. “As Imogene said, it’s my fault anyway.”

  The girls slipped out in search of the bathroom, leaving Emma alone with Reece and a roomful of tension. She hadn’t seen him since Parent-Teacher Night, when he’d challenged her about ignoring their combustible chemistry.

  Well, of course she planned to ignore the feelings he stirred up. They could lead to nothing but disaster, especially when he still thought of her as a selfish daughter who’d ignored her family out of pique. When his every glance announced she was doing it all wrong.

  “I get the feeling I interrupted something important,” Reece said, after a long, uncomfortable silence.

  “Imogene was laughing,” Emma said, wishing she could have those moments back. How nice to enjoy her sister’s company rather than constantly being on guard.

  “I heard.”

  “She’s never done that with me,” Emma said, staring at the flour-drenched counter. “She’s usually too busy glaring at me to even smile, let alone laugh.”

  He shifted on his feet, and she saw compassion fill his dark eyes. “Then I’m sorry I busted up the party.”

  Now that made her crazy. One minute Reece was standing in judgment, and the next he became supportive and helpful. Then there were the other moments when his presence made her feel like she’d just touched a live wire, leaving her gasping and shaking with need. Yeah, those moments disturbed her more than anything. She could not trust Reece, just like she couldn’t trust any man.

  “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure Imogene would have returned to her natural cheery self without any help from you.” Emma grabbed a dishcloth from the sink and ran it under the water. “So, Sheriff, what brings you by today, other than ending playtime?”

  “Sheriff?”

  She could hear the bemusement in his tone. Emma took the wet cloth and began wiping up the prep table. “Every time you show up I feel like I should think up an alibi or demand a phone call to my lawyer.”

  He blew out a breath. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help, Emma. I’m on your side.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  His lips compressed, and Emma took comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only one who’d probably develop TMJ from the constant teeth clenching.

  “I’m not here to start a fight,” he said.

  “Okay, so if you’re not here to reprimand me, why are you here? You still haven’t told me,” she said, continuing to de-flour the kitchen. At least concentrating on cleaning up meant she wouldn't be tempted to stare into his eyes and start imagining he felt the same pull of electricity she did. Despite his teasing the other night at the school, she knew he was too self-contained to indulge in an affair with the daughter of his mentor.

  “I have some papers for you to sign,” Reece said.

  “All right. Just leave them here, and I’ll look over everything in a little while.”

  He moved into her line of vision, as if challenging her to face what was going on between them. “It’d be easier if you could sign them now.”

  Since he wouldn’t take a hint and leave, Emma had no choice but to face him. “Fine. Give me the papers, and let’s get this over with.”

  A glimmer of amusement flitted across his face, and then he reached out, brushing his fingers across her cheek.

  The simple gesture left a trail of heat in its wake, and Emma jerked her head back. “What are you doing?”

  He held up his hand. “You had flour near your eye.”

  Reece stared down at her, and his eyes darkened, making Emma’s pulse hammer. He stepped closer, crowding her into the prep table at her back.

  Desperate to break the spell, Emma slapped the wet cloth against his chest. “Where are those papers?”

  His expression turned part exasperation, part amusement as he glanced down at the flimsy barrier she’d put up. “Really?”

  As in, ‘Do you really think a rag will stop me?’ Or perhaps he laughed at her pathetic attempts to ward him off when she really longed to jerk him closer?

  Emma put her arm down and straightened, pushing down any crazy impulses. “I thought we had business to conduct, Mr. Casings.”

  One brow arched in a sardonic manner she found both irritating and arousing. “There are a lot of things between us, but sure, we can concentrate on papers, Miss Bertram.”

  He removed a yellow envelope from his briefcase. Emma took it and pulled out a stack of legal-looking documents. “What am I signing?”

  “It’s the deed to your father’s house.” He handed her a pen. “Once you sign and everything’s been processed, you’ll be the legal owner.”

  Her nerves went slack, and she dropped the pen. She watched it clatter to the floor but couldn’t make herself lean down to pick it up.

  “Emma?” His warm hand landed on her shoulder, and for once she didn’t brush him off.

  She cursed under her breath. Then when she couldn't come up with anything more succinct to say, she cursed again. “A little warning would have been nice,” she said, when she finally managed to regain her mental faculties.

  Now it was Reece’s turn to curse. “I should have been gentler. I keep forgetting that—”

  “He was my father, too?” Chest heaving with suppressed anguish, Emma lifted her gaze to him. Pity and compassion stared back at her, and she almost hated him for that. She’d much rather deal with hostility. Hostility allowed her to put up armor for protection. Tenderness breached every defense.

  “Sometimes I do, and I’m sorry.”

  His hand slid to the back of her neck, and he would have pulled her in, except Emma once more held him off. “Don’t. I’m fine. I just didn’t expect to get the house.”

  His lips firmed, but again he allowed her to back away. Instead of arguing, he picked up the pen and handed it to her. “You’re not the sole owner. Imogene and Paige will have equal share if you ever decide to sell, but since you’re the legal guardian – and the only one over age eighteen – it’s your signature I need.”

  “Oh.”

  She stared down at the papers. There were times she almost forgot her father and Mona were dead. Or maybe she forced herself not to think about it. Then something would happen to bring reality crashing in again, and she could barely breathe through the jabbing pain. Everyday objects became a battering ram to the heart.

  Her knees shook, and to cover the sudden rush of grief and guilt, she snatched up the papers and signed or initialed by every yellow tab. Then she shoved them toward Reece’s chest. “All done. You can go now.”

  Stumbling over to the sink, she gripped the edge like a hawk clutching its prey. When she didn’t hear footsteps or the soft swish of the door, Emma dared to look over her shoulder. Reece hadn't move, and he was staring like he’d never seen her before.

  “What?” she snapped, wondering why he was still here.

  “If I sometimes forget that Thomas was your father, it’s because you hardly seem affected at all,” he said. “Even your mother has been more forgiving.”

  She flew across the kitchen, coming to a halt in front of him. “How dare you stand there and judge me.”

  He held his hands up, palms out. “I’m not judging, Emma. I’m trying to understand.”

  “Oh please. You’ve done nothing but play judge and jury since the first day we met.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You have no idea how I feel because you’ve never bothered to ask.”

  He captured her wrist. “Then why don’t you tell me?”

  She ripped her hand away, disturbe
d by the heat that encircled her wrist as surely as his fingers.

  “You want the whole sob story, Mr. Casings? Fine, I’ll tell you. Then maybe you’ll understand why I might be ambivalent about the second family my father started after he decided his first one was no longer enough.”

  His mouth twisted. “Emma—”

  “No.” She poked him again. “You wanted the story, and I’m going to tell it without your interruptions.”

  He folded his arms and leaned against the prep table. “Okay, Miss Bertram. Tell me what it was like and why you’re still so determined to hang on to anger?”

  Why was she angry? Because everything she’d ever believed had ended up being based on a lie. The lie that love lasted forever and that family mattered above all. Because the man she’d trusted most in the world had done the unthinkable.

  “You have to understand that I adored my father,” Emma said, aching at the memory of how close they’d once been. “I loved my mom, of course, but I was a daddy’s girl through and through. We were the perfect family, at least it seemed that way to me. Then, when I was fifteen everything changed.”

  “When they divorced,” Reece supplied.

  Her lower lip began to tremble, and she gathered it between her teeth.

  “It was Halloween, a beautiful fall day. The temperature was perfect, and the sky was so blue, it was like it was painted,” Emma continued. “I had a costume that I’d bought for a party. My mom usually made them, but I’d insisted on store bought.”

  “A princess?” Reece mused.

  She sent him a haughty glare. “Wonder Woman. It was the first costume I’d ever had that didn’t make me look like a little girl. Tommy Fincher was going to be there, and I was hoping he’d ask me to dance.”

  “Wonder Woman?” His voice dropped to a sexy rumble, and Emma could almost see the flare of pure lust rise in him.

  She rolled her eyes. Guys were so predictable. If she’d said nurse he’d have conjured up fantasies about that, too. “I doubt you would have been impressed. I was fifteen and a late bloomer.” She glanced down at her chest with a touch of wistfulness. “Not that I’ve bloomed all that much since.”

  “You bloomed in all the right places,” Reece said, his tone even deeper, so that it wrapped around her in a slow caress.

  She swallowed. “We’re supposed to be talking about a serious subject.”

  “I am serious.” Still, he once more stepped back from the precipice. “Tell me about the party. Was Tommy Whatshisname impressed?”

  “He never saw the costume because I didn’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that was the day my parents split up. My mom was doing dishes in the kitchen, and I raced in, chattering about how to style my hair and what makeup I should use. She didn’t say anything for the longest time. When my mom finally turned around, I could tell she’d been crying. She looked like…”

  Emma blew out a breath, remembering the mask of devastation Mary Bertram had worn before she’d managed to cover it up.

  Reece covered her hand on the counter, and the warm pressure seemed to center her a little. “Like what?” he coaxed.

  “Like someone had died,” she managed to say. “Then my father came in, and they gave me the news. Twenty minutes later, he walked out the door to make a new life with Mona.” Emma glanced up at him. “I knew her a little. I’d seen her a couple of times in my dad’s office. I thought she was nice, and I felt sorry for her because her father had just died. I didn’t realize she’d found consolation with my father.”

  Reece winced and shook his head. “I know to you it seemed out of the blue, but there must have been problems before Mona came along.”

  Emma let out a rude noise at his continued defense of her father and Mona. Typical that he would make excuses for them. “Maybe, but she still broke up my family. One day we were all together, and the next he was gone. He threw my mother and I away like we were nothing.”

  Reece stepped closer and took both of her hands. “Emma, that’s not true. He never stopped loving you. You were his daughter.”

  “No, I was a reminder of his other life.” Emma shrugged him off. “Besides, he eventually had two more daughters so he didn’t need me anymore.”

  “It is not the same thing.”

  “It felt the same. Like he’d rejected everything in his past. Then I had to watch him with his new family, knowing I had no place in it.”

  He gazed at her with such pity that she turned her back on him. Reece ignored the snub, and Emma flinched as he settled his hands on her shoulders.

  “Emma, I’m sorry for what you went through,” he said, leaning down to speak into her ear so that his warm breath caressed her neck. “I’ve spent so much time with your family that I forget what came before.”

  “I don’t think you can understand what it is to stand on the outside looking in,” she said, remembering all the times she’d watched her father cuddling with her sisters or the way he’d gaze at them with such tenderness. “I spent years resenting Imogene and Paige for having the life I’d once known. It’s a horrible thing to say, but it’s true.”

  “You were little more than a child yourself. Only a year older than Imogene is now. It’s natural that you would be angry and hurt, but Emma, you’re not fifteen anymore.”

  She jerked away from him and spun around. “What does that mean?”

  “I mean, you’re an adult, and you have two devastated girls who are counting on you. You’re the only family they have left.”

  “I’m fully aware of that, thank you. I’m also aware that you think I’m doing a terrible job.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You think it.”

  “Stop putting words into my mouth.”

  Emma’s temper – which seemed to always be at a low boil whenever Reece showed up – bubbled and frothed over the edge of her sanity. Before she realized her intentions, she grabbed a handful of flour from the still open canister and threw it at him. White powder splashed against his dark suit jacket.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Her hand flew to her mouth, horrified at what she’d done.

  “That was mature,” he said, brushing at his jacket.

  Any shame she’d felt at assaulting him disappeared. “Hang maturity, you arrogant—” she broke off unable to come up with an appropriate insult.

  “Yes, let’s hang maturity.”

  More flour threw through the air…from his hand.

  Emma stared at the new blob near her shoulder. Then back at him. He looked as shocked over his actions as she was. Although not as shocked as when she retaliated. It didn’t take him long to spring into action, and she soon found he had much better aim than her sisters.

  She sputtered as flour went up her nose. Then strong arms were around her as he backed her up against the counter.

  “Are you ready to say uncle, yet?” he asked.

  She flung her head back, squirming against him to get away. “I’ll never surrender.”

  “You might find surrender isn’t so bad.”

  And that’s when things got really out of control. His hand slid up to cradle her head. Emma read the intent in his eyes and she pushed against his chest. “Reece.”

  This time he didn’t let her push him away. Instead, he eased closer. “Emma,” he whispered back.

  He moved slowly, giving her time to get away, if she wanted to.

  Emma tried again. “This is a bad idea.”

  “Without a doubt, but it seems we’re going to risk it.”

  His head lowered, and despite her protests, she rose up to meet him. He didn’t kiss like a buttoned-up, suit-and-tie-wearing lawyer. The world didn’t spin off its axis at two enemy combatants coming together, but everything within her certainly did. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on to keep from falling off the cliff.

  Voices drifted from the other side of the door, and Emma jerked away.

  “You should go.” She made a show of glancing at her w
atch. “I have another interview, and I need to get this place cleaned up before the health inspector shuts us down.”

  His chest rose and fell as he stared at her. “Emma…”

  “No Reece. I can’t handle this.” She waved a hand between them. “On top of everything else.”

  His mouth pinched. “Fine.” He picked up the signed papers and shoved them back in the envelope. At the door, he looked over his shoulder. “I think we can agree now that I don’t hate you.”

  Somehow, she thought things had been easier when he had.

  Chapter 15

  When Emma stepped into the back hallway of The Paradise the next day, she heard a man singing. Not just any man, either. It sounded like something you’d hear on Broadway.

  She’d just come in from the store where she’d bought supplies to try out a couple of new recipes. The voice intrigued her so much she abandoned her cooking plans and instead went in search of its mysterious owner. She followed the sound until she reached the practice room at the other end of the hall.

  Her mother sat at the piano, while a man in his early forties stood in the middle of the room. He was good looking. Not too tall, but he had wide shoulders and a handsome face that a camera would love. Of course, the physical aspects were nothing compared to what came out of his mouth. Paige stood next to him, watching with rapt attention.

  He must have seen her out of the corner of his eye, because he stopped mid-note and turned toward her. “Hello.”

  Even the way he spoke seemed enthused with a rich timbre, like cognac sliding down your throat.

  “Hi,” she said, wondering who on earth he was and how he’d ended up in the practice room at The Paradise.

  Her mother sprang to her feet as a slight hint of color filled her cheeks. “Emma, where did you come from?”

  “I just came in from the store,” Emma said, wondering why her mother looked so flustered all of a sudden.

  “Ah, so you’re the famous Emma Bertram,” Singing Man said.

  “I don't know about famous,” Emma answered, eyeing him again. “I also don’t know you.”

  Paige took the guy’s hand and dragged him closer. “Emma, this is Mr. Atwood. He’s a friend of Mr. Kendall’s.”