She dropped her hand. "I should call Corey."
"I already did." James tried to clear his mind, to let Reed go. "Steven's dad took the boys out for pizza. They'll be back in an hour or so."
Emily picked up the teddy bear she kept on her nightstand. "That's good. Corey likes pizza." She turned and made the bear cuff him on the nose. "This is Dee-Dee."
He laughed and pulled back to study the toy. Although its faded pink fur was matted, it was still cute. Sweet and girlish, he supposed. "Have you had Dee-Dee a long time?"
"Since my first day of kindergarten. I bawled like a baby that day. I didn't want to leave my parents." She wiggled the bear's arms, but a moment later, her voice turned sad. "God, I miss them so much."
He looked into her eyes and saw her loss. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't replace her family. "Tell me about them, Emily. Tell me who they were."
She responded quickly, needing, it seemed, to confide in him. "They were from Oregon, but they moved to Idaho after they got married. My mom was a housewife and my dad was an electrician."
"An electrician?" He refrained from admitting that electronics was his passion, that security systems were his specialty. "Was your dad a contractor?"
She shook her head. "He didn't have his own company. He worked for someone else."
And James used to build surveillance equipment in his spare time, a skill he'd lent to the mob. He wasn't anything like Emily's father. He'd barely worked an honest day in his life. "How'd your parents meet?"
"They were high school sweethearts. I always thought that was romantic."
He didn't comment. But how could he? He wasn't an authority on romance. What he knew about love still hurt. "Why did Corey come along so late? Why did they wait so long to have their second child?"
She smiled, even though her eyes had turned misty. "They wanted more children, but it never happened. So when they were older, they gave up on the idea, and my mom had her tubes tied. Just in case."
James lifted his brows. "And that's when she got pregnant?"
"Sometimes tubal ligations fail." She propped Dee-Dee on her lap. "Corey was their miracle baby. That kid was determined to be born." When she paused, he could sense her next words, knowing they would ring of death. "My brother was only three when they passed away."
"And you were nineteen."
"Almost twenty." She reached for the sheet, then tucked it around the bear, putting it to bed, keeping it safe. "My parents went to the mountains to celebrate their anniversary. They owned a little fishing cabin. It was their favorite getaway." Her features tightened. "I stayed home to take care of Corey. They were only supposed to be gone for a few days."
He didn't ask how they'd died, but he knew she would tell him.
Memories edged her voice, the kind of memories James kept hidden.
"There was a carbon monoxide leak at the cabin. They didn't know about it, of course." She took a breath, let it out slowly. "They fell asleep and never woke up."
"I'm sorry."
"Sometimes it's just so hard. I don't have any family left. My paternal grandparents were already gone, and I've never had any relatives on my mom's side. She was raised in foster care."
He wished he knew how to comfort her. That he was strong enough to take away her pain. She closed her eyes, and he touched the ends of her hair. He knew how it felt to grieve, to cry, to pray for the loneliness to end.
As he pressed his lips to her temple, her lashes fluttered. Then her eyes were open and locked on to his. "The people in this town have been good to Corey and me. When it happened, they rallied around us, doing whatever they could. I wouldn't have survived without their support." She kept her gaze on his. "You're like them, James. You belong here."
No, he thought. He didn't. He wanted to fit in, to be part of Silver Wolf, but the lies kept gnawing at his gut. WITSEC should have relocated him to a metropolis, to an overpopulated city. Small-town life was too complicated for a criminal.
And so were his feelings for Emily.
He covered her with the quilt. She still looked tired, vulnerable in a way that made him ache. "You need to rest."
She didn't argue. "Maybe for a little while. Just a nap." He started to rise, but she stopped him. "Don't go. Stay with me until I fall asleep."
"Are you sure? I don't want to disturb you."
"I'm sure." She snuggled against him, and he put his arms around her, needing to keep her close.
*
Emily awakened the next morning and realized she'd slept through the night. Some nap, she thought, blinking through the haze.
She sat up and looked around, wondering where James was. She knew he'd taken the weekend off, so he had to be someplace close by.
She went into the bathroom and squinted at the mirror, then washed her face and brushed her teeth, deciding her sleep-ravaged hair could wait. She wanted to see James.
She found him in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee. His back was turned, so she simply watched him. He wore jeans, no shirt and no shoes. When he spilled coffee grounds onto the counter, she smiled.
Then he seemed to sense her presence. He spun around and her heart skipped like a jumping bean.
"Emily? What are you doing out of bed?" Did he have any idea how gorgeous he looked? Big and tall and tousled in the morning light? "I slept for almost fourteen hours. I think I'm entitled to get out of bed."
"Did you change your bandage?"
"Not yet."
"Do you want me to do it for you?"
She took a step back. "No." She didn't want him fussing over her scar, looking at the ugly wound on her leg. "I can handle it."
He brushed his hands on his jeans. "Does it hurt?"
She shook her head. "It's more tight than painful."
He moved closer. "Sit down and I'll get you a cup of tea."
Confused, she looked past him. "I thought you were making coffee."
"I bought green tea for you. It's supposed to be beneficial for cancer patients."
Emily sighed. She knew he was worried about her upcoming biopsy results. She was worried, too. But she didn't want him treating her as if she were a walking, talking disease. "I'd prefer coffee."
"Too bad. You're getting tea."
"And you're acting like Nurse Rachett." Rather than respond, he shot her an exasperated look.
She bit back an amused smile. "Come to think of it, wasn't there an Indian in that movie? A big, strong silent type?"
"Yeah. The guy who busted down the walls. Is that what I'm going to have to do to take care of you?"
Such dedication, she thought. Such tough-guy determination. "Fine, Mr. Sourpuss, I'll try your stupid tea."
"Damn right you will."
In one eye-blinking swoop, he crossed the kitchen and took her in his arms. She caught her breath, then fell willingly into his embrace. "You drive me crazy, James Dalton."
"Emily flew over the cuckoo's nest," he said and made her laugh.
They separated to gaze at each other. And when he skimmed her cheek, she all but melted. His touch was gentle, but his fingers were rough. She liked the sensation.
Was he her guardian angel? she wondered. A wild creature with golden skin and big, dark wings? Half man, she thought. And half crow.
"You're magic," she said.
He didn't respond. Instead, he kissed her. The kind of kiss that slipped into a woman's heart, the kind she dreamed about when she was alone, when she imagined heroes on horseback and castles floating in the sky.
Lost, Emily closed her eyes and took what he offered. And when it ended, she knew she'd been bewitched.
"Let me get your tea," he said as she struggled to steady her pulse.
They sat across from each other at the table, sipping hot drinks and eating toast and jam.
"Being babied isn't so bad," she told him.
"You still look tired."
"Because I overslept."
"Because you're worn-out."
That was true, she
supposed. The surgery had taken its toll. "I have plenty of time to recuperate."
"Some vacation."
She went after a second slice of toast. The jam was sweet and thick, laden with strawberries. "It's turning out pretty good so far."
He smiled. But a second later, he frowned at his plate, and she knew his thoughts had drifted to something else. Or to someone else.
"Did she hurt you, James?"
He lifted his head. "What?"
"The woman I remind you of? Did she hurt you?"
"No."
"Then why aren't you with her anymore?"
"I'm just not."
"But why?" She searched his gaze and saw the pain he couldn't seem to hide. "It's obvious that you loved her."
He reached for his coffee, took a sip, set it down with unsteady hands. "I don't want to talk about this."
"That's not fair. It's not…" Her words faded and suddenly she knew. She could sense the truth. "She died, didn't she? That's why you're not with her."
He went still, unnaturally still. He could have been made of stone.
Emily's breath hitched. "Answer me."
Silence. Complete silence.
"Damn it, James. Answer me."
"Yes," he snapped. "She's dead."
"From what? Cancer?" When he flinched, she gripped the table. "That's it, isn't it?" The reason he was so determined to baby her, to be with her. "You should have told me."
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't. I just couldn't."
She fought back tears, refusing to cry in front of him. It wasn't her he cared about. It was the other woman who mattered to him, the blonde she represented.
"Don't hate me," he said.
Hate him? She crossed her arms, hugging away the chill. She could never hate him. Not James, not her beautiful, tortured lover. Yet his betrayal lanced her like a dull, dizzying blade. Everything inside her ached – her heart, her soul, the scar on her leg.
Dear God. What was happening to her?
"I'm sorry," he said again.
When the room begun to spin, she rose. "I have to lie down." She lost her footing and started to fall. And then suddenly he was there, her guardian angel, lifting her into his arms, enfolding her in his wings.
He carried her to bed, and she broke down and cried. He rocked her, holding her as close as possible, and she suspected he was as confused as she was. She could feel his heart slamming against his chest.
She clung to his shoulders, and he whispered another apology, soothing her with his voice, with the sincerity of his sorrow.
Finally, she wiped her tears. He hadn't betrayed her, not purposely. "Do you look at me and see her? Are you mixing us up in your mind?"
"I might have done that in the beginning, but things are different now. I know who you are, and I know that I need you. But what's happening between us scares me."
It scared her, too. He'd become part of her, part of an ache she couldn't deny. What would she do without him?
"Don't hold this against me, Emily."
Afraid she was losing him, she reached for his hand. Her protector, her dark-winged angel. "I won't. And I won't ask you about the woman you loved. But someday you have to tell me about her. Promise me that much."
"I will," he said, before he glanced away and hid the haunting she still saw in his eyes.
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
Three days later Emily retreated to her studio. It wasn't much of a studio, she supposed. But the tiny room was laced with art supplies and that counted for something. She enjoyed the creative solace it provided.
Aside from a few art classes in high school, Emily didn't have any formal training. But that hadn't stopped her from selling some of her work.
Maybe James would attend the next craft fair with her. Maybe—
She studied the drawing that occupied her mind. The half-naked, dark-winged image that seduced her imagination was James.
When the door flew open, she closed the sketchbook and spun around in her chair.
Corey bounced in place, bobbing from one foot to the other. Her brother had returned yesterday. "Are you making pictures, Emmy?"
"Yes." She smiled at his expression, at the boyish enthusiasm he couldn't seem to contain.
"Know what me and James are doin'?"
"No, what?"
"Cooking dinner."
"Really?"
"Yep. And we're all gonna eat on the patio. James bought some candles for the table. He's trying to make it nice for you. He said girls like candles and stuff." He twitched his nose and sent a scatter of freckles dancing. "They're the kind that'll keep the bugs away, too."
Her smile deepened. "Of course. We wouldn't want bugs at our table."
"Girls don't like bugs."
"Certainly not."
"The food is gonna be real good, Emmy. So you gotta come outside in about ten minutes, okay?" He held up his hand. "But not before, 'cause it won't be ready. And I still gotta pick some flowers."
He tore off before she could thank him for being such a gentleman. He banged the door on his way out and made her laugh. Recovering from surgery wasn't so bad, not with two doting males to look after her.
Emily turned around and went back to work, losing herself in the fantasy she was creating. She wasn't sure if she would ever summon the courage to ask James to model for her, but for now, the secret sketch gave her a forbidden thrill.
When the door opened again, she realized she'd lost track of time. "I'll be right there, Corey."
"I'm not Corey," a deep voice said from behind her.
Reacting like the guilty female she was, she closed the sketchbook, took a deep breath and turned to face her fantasy.
He stood before her, with a simple white T-shirt tucked into a pair of frayed and faded jeans. The stitching on the seams was loose and one knee protruded through a threadbare hole. She'd never seen a more handsome man.
"Dinner is ready," he said.
"I'm sorry. I meant to come outside."
"That's okay."
She rose, leaving the sketchbook on her drawing table. He didn't ask what she was working on, but she would have lied anyway. Emotions still ran high between them, the confusion that fueled their relationship evident in every desperate glance, in every awkwardly romantic gesture.
He moved toward her. "I didn't mean to make you cry, Emily."
She wanted to touch him, to smooth the hair that fell onto his forehead, but her hand had begun to tremble, just a little, just enough to make her self-conscious. "That was days ago. Everything is all right now."
"Are you sure? You've been spending a lot of time in here."
Did he think she was avoiding him? She glanced back at her sketchbook. If only he knew. "I'm fine, James."
"Are you getting enough rest?"
"Yes." She still got tired on her feet, but she could only spend so much time in bed. She knew some patients recovered quicker than others. "I'm a lady of leisure."
He smiled at that. "Then join me for dinner, dear lady."
"I'd be honored, sir." She took the arm he offered and allowed him to escort her to the patio, where their meal and a six-year-old boy waited.
Corey ran to pull back her chair and she knew James had coached him ahead of time. Her brother was learning to be quite a man.
"Thank you, Master Corey." She sat and examined the table. "This looks wonderful." Wildflowers and white candles, she thought. A pan of baked chicken with cream sauce, a bowl of green beans topped with almonds and a salad tossed with exotic greens. She smiled and reached for her napkin. Corey's plate held a boiled hot dog and a side of macaroni and cheese. "I'm impressed."
James sat across from her. "Don't be. The chicken is one of the soup recipes and the green beans were frozen. They came that way."
"I'm still impressed." And touched by the sentiment, by the care he'd taken to prepare her food, by the sheer beauty of eating outdoors on a warm, almost-summer night.
"We got ice
cream for dessert." Corey beamed at her. "And chocolate sauce and whipped cream and cherries and everything."
"Then I'll be sure to save room." She leaned over and kissed the top of her brother's head, then proceeded to say a silent grace, thanking God for the gifts she'd been given, for Corey and James and the wonder of being alive.
They talked about simple things over dinner, things to which her brother could relate. Within no time, Corey wolfed down his food and raced into the kitchen to make a cherry-topped dessert. Then he fidgeted with the empty bowl and asked to be excused to watch his favorite sitcom.
Emily granted him permission, and when he was gone, she and James stared at each other from across the table.
"Do you want some ice cream?" he asked.
"Not just yet."
"How about some tea?"
"That sounds good." He offered her a cup of green tea every day, and she'd become accustomed to the mild taste.
"I'll be back in a minute."
He returned in three, with a pretty china cup and a tray with milk and honey. He'd brought himself a bottle of domestic beer. He twisted the cap while she sweetened her drink and took small sips.
"Is this difficult for you?" she asked.
"What?"
"Staying here."
"Why would it be?"
"I thought it was easier for cowboys to be near their work."
He swallowed a swig of his beer. "I'm not that much of a cowboy."
She thought about the black Stetson and battered boots he routinely wore. "You look like a horseman." But he looked like a pierced-and-tattooed city boy, too. Nothing was cut-and-dried where James was concerned.
He glanced up at the sky. "It's a nice night."
"Yes, it is." Rather than look up, she kept her gaze fixed on him. "You made it special."
He caught her watching him. "I enjoy being here with you. And with Corey."
"You're a good influence on him."
"I like kids. I—" James stalled and picked up his beer. He what? Had a son? A little boy he still thought about every day? "I didn't have a stable upbringing," he said instead. "I wasn't raised in a nurturing home." That much he could tell her, that much he wanted her to know.
She came around the table and sat next to him. "This is the first time you've mentioned your family."
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