Songbird

by Maya Banks

  He drew away and glared at her. “Still nagging, I see. Greer hasn’t given up his smokes, so nag him if you feel the need, but leave me be. I’ve been chewing for forty years, and I don’t aim to quit anytime soon.”

  She rolled her eyes as she stepped back. “Pardon me for not wanting you both to die of cancer.”

  “The good Lord will take me when he’s ready and not a minute sooner.”

  Her smile disappeared and the heavy weight descended on her chest again.

  “Ah sheeit,” Buck said. “That was a damn fool thing of me to say, Emmy. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

  “I know,” she said, trying valiantly to resummon her smile.

  Giving up, she took a seat at the bar beside Taggert and avoided both their gazes. When Buck put a plate in front of her, she ate without tasting. She knew they watched her and also knew they were measuring every bite, so she made herself eat all of it.

  When she pushed the plate away, Buck gave a grunt of satisfaction and picked it up to put it in the sink.

  “So how about that walk out to the stable?” Taggert asked.

  There was a challenge in his voice that made her groan inwardly. What she really wanted to do was go back to bed or even curl up on the couch and absorb the familiar smells of the Donovan house.

  But she was embarrassed to tell him no, to explain that she didn’t have the energy to do much more than brush her hair. It was still damp, and if she went outside, she’d need to comb it and dry it.

  She raised trembling fingers to press against her forehead.

  “Are you okay?”

  Taggert’s concerned voice brushed over her ears. She tried to nod, but all she managed was a clipped half motion that could either be deciphered as a yes or a no.

  “The walk can wait,” he said after a pause. “You should get some more rest. When you’re feeling more up to it, I’ll take you out to see the horses.”

  Relief made her weak. She put her hands on the edge of the bar to push herself off the stool, and then she made her way toward the living room. Did the closet still hold all those wonderful old afghans that Maria Donovan had made?

  She stopped just outside the living room and opened the hallway closet to see a pile of blankets residing on the same shelf they’d always rested on.

  She pulled one down and briefly held it to her nose, savoring the smell. Home. It smelled like home.

  Carrying it into the living room, she sank onto the couch with something akin to bliss. Haphazardly, she arranged the blanket around her body and drew it up to her chin before closing her heavy lids.

  Chapter Four

  “You shouldn’t have caved so goddamn easy,” Greer said in disgust.

  He took one last drag of his cigarette then tossed it down and ground it under his boot heel.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Taggert growled. “You weren’t looking at her. She was about to collapse. I honest to God think it took everything she had to get up, shower and eat. Besides, I’m done with being the older brother and bully in this shit. I can’t forget it was me doing all the talking when we sent her away. Like it was my decision as head of the fucking household.”

  Greer held up his hand in surrender. “I understand. I just can’t stand this. I feel like we’re losing her all over again, and there’s not a damned thing we can do.”

  “I know what I’m going to do,” Taggert gritted out. “I’m going to be there every step of the way. I’m never going to give her a chance to think I don’t want her—that I don’t…love her,” he ended in a nearly silent exhale.

  “Work?” Greer asked.

  “Fuck work. Our hands are more than capable of running the show for a while. Rand will keep things going smoothly.”

  “Okay.”

  “Look man, if you don’t want this—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Greer said coldly. “That’s a stupid-ass thing to say. We made a decision. We made a mistake. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

  Taggert held both hands up. “All right, then stop second-guessing my decisions. You handle Emmy your way. I’ll handle her mine.”

  Greer nodded. He watched as Tagg turned and stalked inside the house. Tagg might be the older brother, but he was definitely the impatient hothead of the family. Neither of them liked his judgment questioned even if they had monumentally fucked up in the past.

  Greer sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d locked heads, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

  He walked toward the house, the need to see Emily again eating at him. He’d talk with Rand later.

  ***

  Emily sat in the dark, her hands covered with sticky warmth. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  Sean.

  Where was Sean?

  She knew something terrible had happened, but she couldn’t see. The dark suffocated her like some cloak of doom wrapping around her neck.

  “Sean,” she whispered.

  Some of the dark faded. Distant laughter sounded, raising the hairs at her nape. Slowly, she lifted her hands, staring in horror at the bright red blood dripping from her palms.

  Then she looked down to see Sean lying on the ground, a gaping knife wound in his chest.

  Blood. So much blood. Sean’s blood.

  A scream rose from the depths of her soul, clawing a path up her throat, raw and scraping.

  “Emmy. Emmy, wake up, love. Baby, shhh. You’re all right, I swear it. Come on. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

  Taggert’s voice sounded urgently, close to her, and she turned frantically to him, seeking escape from the horrific image of Sean awash in his own blood.

  Her eyes fluttered open to see Taggert on his knees beside the couch, Greer standing behind him. Worry creased their brows. Had she screamed aloud?

  She couldn’t catch her breath. The more she sucked in, the tighter her chest became.

  Taggert stroked her face with a gentle hand. “Breathe, baby. With me. Look at me.”

  She focused on those dark eyes, trying to mimic the slow rise and fall of his chest.

  “That’s it, Emmy. In and out. Look at me. See me. You’re safe.”

  She gave a deep, shuddering breath as the tightness eased and the air flowed smoothly once more. She gazed helplessly up at him, hating her weakness but knowing she wasn’t strong enough to overcome it. Was she?

  She’d overheard Doc Summerston tell Greer and Taggert that she’d given up. Funny, she’d never really thought of it in terms like that. Dying didn’t mean giving up, did it? No one ever bothered to tell her she was alive until Doc issued a sharp reprimand that she was killing herself.

  Sean hadn’t given up, and he was dead.

  But you’re alive. The tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind.

  Oh God. Did she want to live?

  “Come here,” Taggert whispered as he gathered her into his arms.

  The blanket slipped to her waist as she leaned toward him. He simply plucked her from the couch and sat down with her on his lap. Greer sat beside them and propped her legs over his lap.

  “Bad dream?” Greer asked softly.

  “Blood,” she blurted. She shuddered violently. “It was everywhere.” She raised her hands to stare at them and then rubbed them frantically over her pants legs. “It was all over my hands. I couldn’t get it off.”

  Taggert pressed his lips to her hair and rubbed his hand down the length of her arm. “It’s okay, Emmy. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

  “Make it go away,” she whispered.

  He squeezed her tight, and she snuggled further into his embrace. It was ironic that for so long she would have given anything to be here in Taggert’s arms, close to Greer. All that was missing was Sean.

  She stiffened and bowed her head, shrinking from his embrace.

  “Don’t,” Taggert said huskily. “I know you hurt. But don’t push me away. Not like I…”

  …pushed you away.

  The words hung between
them in the thick silence that ensued. She didn’t want to go there. Not now. She simply couldn’t have this conversation. It was much easier to pretend that day never happened, that she’d never bared her soul and that Taggert and Greer hadn’t rejected her.

  Slowly she laid her head back on his broad chest and stared mutely at Greer. His hand ran over her leg, pausing occasionally to offer a light squeeze.

  What had changed? They confused her, and she was too exhausted to figure them out.

  “Emmy,” Greer began, his voice hesitant, “sweet pea, you’ve got to start living again.”

  She flinched and looked away, but Greer reached forward, cupped her chin and forced her gaze back to him.

  “We miss him too.”

  She went very still in Taggert’s arms. No one had said Sean’s name since her arrival. No one had mentioned him even indirectly.

  “I’d like to go to bed,” she croaked.

  Greer’s lips firmed, and he looked like he’d argue. He pulled away from her and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

  “All right, Emmy. But tomorrow things are going to change.”

  She heard the warning in his statement, but that was tomorrow, and it was all she could do to deal with today. Tomorrow…that was a long time away, and she’d take it one day at a time.

  Chapter Five

  The gentle strains of a guitar woke Emily from her sleep. She blinked fuzzily, wondering if it was just part of a dream. It was still dark outside, but a quick glance at the clock told her dawn wasn’t far off.

  A haunting melody, so simple and beautiful, floated over her ears. Her chin trembled. It was the first song she’d recorded—a song she’d written long ago when she and the Donovan brothers had spent a spring afternoon in the rain. Mountain Rain.

  She closed her eyes and let the chords take her back to the nights spent round a campfire, Sean playing the guitar while she sang. Taggert and Greer sat by the fire, their long legs stretched out, their brims pulled low over their foreheads and their worn boots reflecting the flicker of the flames.

  Drawn to the music, she eased out of bed and walked into the hallway to stand at the top of the stairs. Clad in only her flannel PJs, she followed the sound of the guitar down to the living room and realized it was coming from the front porch.

  Her legs shook, and she had to steady herself by reaching down to grasp the arm of the couch. Who was playing? And moreover, her song?

  The words to the song floated through her mind, and she was reminded of earlier, happier days. Carefree.

  She opened the front door and stepped into the chilly morning air. The music stopped, and she found herself staring at Taggert, his hand frozen over the strings as he stared back at her.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Taggert said.

  “I didn’t know you played.”

  He glanced down at the guitar, and it was then she realized it was Sean’s.

  “I don’t play well. Been fiddling with it for the last year.”

  “It sounded beautiful,” she said in a low voice.

  He looked back up at her, his gaze roving over her face until she could feel it caressing her cheek.

  “Will you sing if I play?”

  Her hand flew to her throat and she shook her head forcefully. “No. I c-can’t.”

  “Why can’t you?” he persisted. “Emmy, it’s been a year. Yours is the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in my life. You have a talent that astounds me, and you’re wasting it.”

  She shook her head again, unable to voice her terror, to admit her guilt, that it was because of the voice he loved so much that Sean was dead. She hated it. She couldn’t even think about singing without her throat closing in on her.

  She sank down onto one of the rockers. “Play for me,” she begged.

  His fingers stuttered over the strings for a moment, clumsy at first, and then he strummed the first chords of Montana Memories, a song she’d written specifically for the Donovan brothers. Did he know? Had he guessed?

  She wrapped herself in the beauty of the music, allowing it to give her comfort when nothing else had. When the last note died and the skies began to lighten in preparation for sunrise, she sought his gaze and asked the question burning a hole in her mind.

  “Why?”

  His brow furrowed. “Why what?”

  “Why did you come after me? Why did you bring me back here? Why…do you and Greer act as though I mean something to you…more than being your brother’s widow?”

  He sucked in his breath and carefully laid the guitar aside. His hands wiped along the tops of his legs and then gripped the area just above his knees. He looked…nervous. That puzzled her. Taggert was brash, temperamental, outspoken, opinionated, but she’d never seen him nervous.

  “We made a mistake,” he said in a raw voice. “One that’s cost us a lot. One we’ll regret making the rest of our lives.”

  “We?”

  “Greer and I, but he’s not here, so I can only speak for me. I made a mistake, Emmy. I pushed you away. I was surprised, even a little appalled that you claimed to love all of us, that you wanted to be with us. I was angry—jealous—and so I sent you away.”

  She stared at him in shock. Had he changed his mind? Now? After four years?

  “Don’t you see, Emmy? If I hadn’t sent you away, you could have been with us. You would have never turned to Sean the way you did and the two of you wouldn’t have left here. You would have been happy and wouldn’t have spent so much time avoiding us. You and Sean would have stayed here and not in a hotel in town, and you damn sure wouldn’t have been walking back to the hotel from the café the night Sean was killed.”

  Oh God, it hurt. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to deny that he was at fault, but she couldn’t find the words. Her mind screamed no, no, no in a never-ending litany, but instead of saying it, she got up and walked back into the house, leaving Taggert calling after her.

  She walked past the living room, through the kitchen to the back door with no destination in mind. She let herself out, shivering when her bare feet made contact with the cold ground.

  She went in the opposite direction of the stables, through the gate and down the worn pathway to the pond. The water looked dark and forbidding in the faint light, and she hurried on until she topped the slight rise beyond.

  She came to a stumbling halt by the large oak tree that sheltered the headstones beneath. Some of them old, dating back a hundred years, and one much newer.

  It wasn’t necessary for the sun to shed its light over the engraving. She knew it by heart. Sean Donovan, beloved brother and husband.

  Pain. Unrelenting pain. A tiny crack formed in the thick ice protecting her. Spreading rapidly, splintering in all directions. Unstoppable.

  Panic swelled in her chest. A garbled noise caught in her throat. She couldn’t breathe and oh God, it hurt. She needed help. She was going to explode. Something was terribly wrong. She was losing control and felt her insides straining against unbearable pressure.