Unintentionally Mine

by Stephanie Rowe

  Astrid put her arm around Emma and squeezed gently. "And just remember, men come and go, but girlfriends are forever."

  "Men come way too fast actually," Eppie said. "Most of them need to learn to slow it down a bit, you know?"

  Emma burst out laughing at Eppie's outrageous comment. "Eppie!"

  "What? You think I haven't been around?" Eppie picked up her champagne glass and waggled it at them. "I know you girls talk about sex when I'm not around, and I want in. I can't go around having proper conversations all the time, you know." Then she leaned forward, her eyes piercing as she turned serious. "You listen to me, Emma. You married a bad man, but all men aren't like that. You've been like a damn nun since you moved back to town, and it's time for that to end, or you're going to shrivel up and die like an old raisin."

  Emma stiffened. "I'm not a raisin, Eppie."

  "No, not yet. But you've got that look in your eye that says you'd rather get old and wrinkly than ever let another man near you. It's not healthy. Women need men. They need them for more than sex, but, I'm not going to lie, the sex is critical." She shrugged. "We have to accept it. It's the way we're hardwired."

  "Okay, okay." Astrid held up her hand to cool Eppie down. Not that they didn't love Eppie, but sex advice from a senior citizen with a better sex life than she had was just depressing. "Let's give Emma a break, shall we? Today is about celebrating liberation, and that's what we're going to do." She handed Emma a package wrapped in gold and silver polka dots. "Open this first."

  Grateful for the distraction, Emma tore open the package. Inside were ten tubes of paint. The most expensive, most beautiful paint available. She had only three tubes of it, and she rationed it carefully. The tubes were resting on seven canvas boards that she could already tell were of the highest quality, far beyond what she ever bought for herself. A dozen paintbrushes were tied with a pretty red ribbon. Not just any paintbrushes. The best that money could buy. Stunned, she looked at her friend. "It's an incredible gift. I don't even know how to thank you."

  Astrid beamed at her. "Painting is your salvation, so I figured you should do it in style."

  Emma ran her hand over the art supplies, still amazed by Astrid's thoughtfulness. Her day job was a museum curator in Portland, but her first love was painting. "Thank you." She cocked her head. "Are you sure? It's so expensive."

  "Of course. What's the point of falling madly in love with a rich guy if you don't spend his money on your best friends?" Astrid patted her hand. "Enjoy."

  Emma grinned at Astrid's generosity. After watching Astrid struggle financially for so long, it was great to see her being able to afford the things that mattered to her.

  Clare set a gift bag in front of her. "You'll like this."

  Emma opened it, then grimaced when she saw it was an array of decadent lace underwear and bras. She held up a light pink nightie that was pure silken elegance...and sex. "I thought we agreed I didn't have to start dating—"

  "It's not for men." Clare grinned. "It's for you. A girl doesn't need a man to feel sexy."

  How long had it been since she'd worn anything sexy? Years. Since before her marriage ended. Would she dare wear it now? Even for herself? Temptation called to her, but fear was stronger. She managed a smile. "They're beautiful."

  "No man is going to jump you just because you're secretly wearing a pair of sexy underwear," Clare said. "Try it. You'll like it. You'll be like this giant tease. Every man will know there's something about you…but he won't know what it is."

  Emma laughed then, and gave up the pretense of pretending she wasn't terrified at the mere idea of doing anything that could attract a man's attention. "How do you know me so well?"

  "Because we've been friends for twenty years. You can't hide from me," Clare said, holding up a pair of the lace undies and flipping them toward Emma. "I know you don't feel like it now, but someday you'll be happy to have some sexy lingerie to show off to the right guy."

  A cold chill rippled over Emma, and she shook her head. "No way. I'm done."

  Empathy flickered in Clare's eyes, and Emma had to look away. She didn't want her friends looking at her in pity, or seeing her as a lonely spinster. She was fine being single. It was so much safer than dating, so much safer than putting her trust in another man, and in her own judgment. She remembered it hadn't been that long ago when both her friends were claiming to prefer single life as well. Now that they had met the loves of their lives, they seemed to have forgotten that being single could be a great gift.

  "And mine." Eppie pointed to another bag, this one covered in huge red cartoon lips on a gold background. "This is for you."

  Ignoring the silent exchange of glances between Astrid and Clare, which Emma knew was about her ongoing refusal to consider dating again, Emma unwrapped the hot pink tissue from Eppie's present. It was a six-inch, framed watercolor of two hummingbirds drinking from the same pink petunia, their green, yellow and blue bodies vibrant against the white background. Exquisitely painted, it was elegant in its simplicity. It brought to life the nature that abounded in Birch Crossing, the same nature that gave Emma so much solace when she was struggling emotionally. It was as if someone had painted serenity itself onto the canvas and captured it just for her. "It's beautiful," she whispered in awe.

  "It was my first anniversary present from George," Eppie said.

  Emma was shocked and tried to give it back. "I can't take this—"

  "Of course you can. I have forty-two anniversary presents from him. I want you to have this one." Eppie pushed it right back to her. "It shows how even hummingbirds can stay still long enough to fall in love with each other. That's what he used to call me, his hummingbird, because I was always on the run so much he thought he'd never catch me." She smiled, her cherry red lips stretching wide and deepening the wrinkles on her skin. "He never tried to slow me down. He just always made sure to be there when I paused." She leaned forward. "That's the kind of man you need, Emma. A man who will let you buzz around, but who will be there when you are ready for him. Not a scum-sucking pig who tries to rip you down and destroy the light in your soul before the final vows are even read." She held up her champagne glass. "Remember that, girl, and you'll be all set."

  "I appreciate the reference to Preston as a scum-sucking pig." Emma couldn't help but smile. "I'm not going to date anyone, but I will cherish the hummingbirds."

  "I know you will." Eppie winked. "Just enjoy the art. That's enough for now. The rest will come."

  After the gifts, the evening began to descend into a bawdy girls' night of terrible dating stories, fashion trends, and an examination of Astrid's latest jewelry line. By the time an hour had passed, Emma's tension about joining the divorced world had faded. She felt comfortable and at home in her world with her girls—

  "Are we interrupting?" The front door opened, and in walked Jason Sarantos, Astrid's new husband. He was carrying their baby Rosie in his arms, and beside him was his eight-year-old son, Noah, who was wearing a Red Sox hat.

  "Jason!" Astrid's face lit up, and she jumped up from the table. The kiss she gave her husband was so intimate and sweet that Emma felt an ache of longing in her own chest. She was happy for Astrid, but it was so clear from the way that Astrid's face softened at the sight of her family that she was definitely no longer someone who would sit up late nights with Emma enjoying some popcorn and Netflix.

  Behind him was Clare's husband, Griffin Friesé. He was carrying six large pizzas from Jason's cafe, a broad grin on his face. "Dinner has arrived for the party."

  "Fantastic!" Clare leapt up, her own face illuminating at the sight of her husband. "Thanks so much. We're starving."

  Emma sank back into her seat, retreating from the excitement that the men brought into the room. She glanced across the table at Eppie, and then was startled to see the older lady was gazing across the room with a gleam in her eye. She followed Eppie's gaze and saw Astrid's stepfather, Ralph Hutchins, walk in the door, carrying Rosie's diaper bag.

&nbs
p; Eppie immediately straightened her hat, gave Emma a wink, and then rose from her chair. "I'm going to the kitchen for some napkins," she announced.

  "I'll help." Ralph immediately changed course and hustled after her, the door swinging shut behind them almost before they'd even made it through. Eppie and Ralph were getting it on? How had she missed that?

  "Is this the party?" Through the front door stepped another couple, Jackson Reed and his wife, along with their toddler. The noise and energy of the room began to rise as people hugged and kissed, welcoming each other into Astrid's home. So much warmth, so many kids, so much connection, so many families, it was almost overwhelming.

  The pizza was set on the table and drinks were poured, as everyone hugged Emma and celebrated her liberation day. The noise began to close in on her, the joviality too much. She caught Clare's arm. "Clare, I think I need to get some air—"

  "No, wait." Clare grinned as the front door opened again. In walked the new bartender from Johnny's Swill and Grill, the best pub in town. He was still the well-muscled specimen he'd been at Astrid's botched going away party, and the tattoo on his biceps was partially visible below the sleeve of his black tee shirt. He looked around the room, then saw Clare. He nodded at her and headed toward them, his eyes fixed with too much interest on Emma.

  Emma stiffened. "What is he doing here? I don't even know him."

  "He's new to town. None of us know anything about him. Griffin decided we needed to change that, so here he is. Smile and be nice." Clare beamed at him as he approached. "Glad you could make it, Brady. This is Emma Larson. You remember her, don't you? Emma, this is Brady Foster. Don't let the tattoos fool you. He's actually a good guy. Oh, wait, Eppie's got the wrong dishes. Eppie!" Clare hurried off, leaving Emma alone with Brady.

  He loomed over her, large. Too large. Too powerful. Too strong. He smiled at her, a smile designed to rip her heart right out of her chest, just like Preston's practiced good looks had done for her that damned July day when he'd finally noticed her after years of coming to Birch Crossing as a summer resident.

  "Hey," he said. His voice was low and reserved, but it had a muted edge that told her he wasn't entirely comfortable at the party either.

  She swallowed, and clenched her palms. "Hi," she managed, her mouth dry. She looked around the room, desperate for an escape, but everyone was occupied with a significant other. Smiles that were so genuine, filled with so much love, so much connection. Children being hugged. Families.

  Aside from Brady, she was the only single one there, standing beside a stranger with huge shoulders. She swallowed, fighting against the panic. She couldn't do this. She simply could not do it. "I have to go—"

  "Wait." He caught her arm, his touch light, but Emma jumped anyway at the familiarity. "Stay a sec." His dark brown eyes flickered over her face. "Griffin wanted me to meet you. He's a good guy. Let's give it a chance."

  Emma swallowed, her heart pounding. She glanced over at Clare, who was cuddling baby Rosie. Astrid was laughing with Jason and Griffin. It was a scene of pure domestic bliss, a world that her two best friends lived in, a lifestyle she wasn't a part of, not anymore. Where was she going to escape to? She had nowhere to go. This was her life. She had to find a way to make peace with it and to belong. She managed a smile at Brady, even though her stomach was churning. All she wanted to do was leave, but it was her party. How could she? "Yeah, okay."

  "Okay." Releasing her arm, he leaned against the wall, his body too muscled and appealing for comfort. "Tell me, Emma Larson, what is it that makes you tick?"

  She was surprised by the depth of that question and shifted uncomfortably. "You can't just ask me about the weather?"

  His dark eyes were brooding. "I don't care about the weather."

  The moment he said those words, she knew he wasn't a man she could control. He was a man who would consume whatever woman he was with, stripping her of her defenses and demanding access to every one of her private thoughts and feelings. He was a man who would fight for all of a woman, and never be satisfied with halfway. Once, too long ago, that was the kind of man she burned for.

  Now? He was the kind of man who terrified her.

  Chapter 2

  Astrid lived here? The house was incredible, a lakeside retreat nestled at the edge of the woods with a two acre yard, a carriage house, and a view of the mountains on the other side of the lake. And this was his sister's house?

  Harlan pulled his truck up behind a silver Mercedes and four other cars. Scowling, he studied the vast home that Astrid had mentioned in her last email to him, the one where she'd told him that she'd gotten married and had a baby. He'd known this was Jason's house, but logically, he'd never actually comprehended that his sister had landed in a place like this. As he studied it, a slow grin began to dawn on his face, and the most tremendous sense of relief seemed to fill him as he shifted his truck into park.

  This was good. She deserved this. His little sister had finally found someone to take care of her and make sure she was all right. He wanted to fist pump the air for her. You go, Astrid.

  He got out of his truck, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder from his latest mission. He rubbed his jaw as he strode up the walkway, past all the cars lining the circular drive. Five cars. Was she having a party? He slowed his steps as he neared the front door, feeling out of place in this domestic scene.

  It had been almost a year since he'd been back in Birch Crossing. A year since he'd consorted with people who lived normal lives. He glanced at his reflection as he walked past a shiny black SUV, and then grimaced. His face was a grizzled mess. Once he'd been dropped back in the States, he hadn't bothered to even change, let alone shave or shower. He'd just come straight here, still haunted by the image of his father dying alone. He had only forty-eight hours until his next mission, and he needed to see his sister before he left.

  The sound of laughter and music assaulted him as he reached the bottom step. Definitely a party. He vaulted up two steps, ignored the front door, and peered in the window instead. He found his sister right away. She was laughing with Jason Sarantos, the bastard Harlan had punched in the face right before he'd taken off.

  The man was grinning at Astrid as if she were the very reason he took a breath every morning, and Astrid was looking at him the same way. A young boy was next to Jason, chatting animatedly to Astrid. In her arms was a small baby. Rosie? Wasn't that what she'd said? Named after their mother. The scene was pure domestic bliss, which was something that Harlan had never associated with anyone he was related to. The furniture was perfect, and the dining table even had china on it. China? His little sister had china?

  Harlan looked down at himself. His jeans were stained and torn, his boots still caked with mud. His tee shirt had was streaked with dirt on it, and he hadn't shaved in days. What the hell was he doing, bringing that shit into his sister's life? She'd made it out of the hell that their mother had started them in. She'd gotten what she wanted and deserved. She was all set.

  She didn't need Harlan's protection anymore, which meant his job with her was done. There was no need for him to bug her, or to inject himself into her life. He realized he'd been a fool to come back here. He didn't belong in this world. He belonged in a world where a man died alone on the bank of a river, with nothing but angels and demons around him, warring for his soul.

  He was just starting to turn away when he heard a shout from the back of the room. He looked sharply as he saw Eppie Orlowe emerge from what looked like the kitchen, carrying a flaming dessert of some sort. She shot a grin at the back corner.

  Harlan followed her gaze, and then he saw her. Emma Larson. His breath caught at the sight of her, hungrily drinking her in. Her face was drawn and haunted, her cheeks too hollow. Protectiveness surged through him and he gripped the window frame. What was wrong with her? Her hair, that gorgeous blond hair, was curling around her neck, softening her face, but the shadows were still in her eyes.

  Two years ago, he'd been there the first d
ay she'd walked into Wright's General Store after being away for half a decade. Everyone in the store had leapt up, welcoming her back to town, but he'd seen the depth of suffering in those green eyes, and he'd seen the effort it had taken for her to graciously accept all the attention. But gracious she'd been, reaching out with warmth to all, despite the weight in her soul. She had been haunted by something, and even now she still carried it with her. Harlan saw her grief, he felt her struggle. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that someone understood, but she'd never looked in his direction.

  Of course she wouldn't. Emma Larson was purity at its best. Her smile was always kind. She was always there with a hug for anyone who needed it. She had a softness, a vulnerability to her spirit that called to Harlan, that made him want to get down on his knees and beg her to share it with him, to show him what it was like to have one minute, one second, of that kind of beauty in his life.

  Not that he'd ever do it. He would never contaminate Emma with who he was. Ever.

  Then a man, a tall, big man walked over to her, carrying a glass of champagne. Emma started with obvious nervousness, and Harlan fisted his hands, moving closer to the window. Who was he? What was he doing with Emma? The man was too strong, too dangerous for Emma. He'd crush her. What the hell? Why wasn't anyone in there looking out for her?

  Harlan glanced around the room. Astrid was still engaged with Jason and the kid. Clare was talking to Eppie. No one was watching out for Emma. Shit. It was up to Harlan to go in there and run interference for her—

  He looked back at her, but she was gone.

  Harlan stopped, his hand halfway to the doorknob. Emma was no longer in the living room. The behemoth who'd been bugging her was still there, now being cornered by Eppie. Where was Emma?

  Harlan dropped his hand from the doorknob, a sudden sense of loss assaulting him at the disappearance of Emma. Shit. What had he been thinking, rushing in there like some ass to save a damsel in distress, who clearly was capable of extricating herself from a situation she didn't like?