Twelve Days

by Teresa Hill

  "And someone who was out to hurt me would say things like that?"

  "He would if he was smart. It sure seems to be working for me. After all, I'm right here with you," he said, frustration getting the better of him.

  "You think I'm an idiot, don't you?" She went from flattered to mad in about half a second.

  "I think you can't be too careful. Look at what this jerk did to you."

  "I know." She touched a hand to her bruised cheek, as if to test and see if it were still there, still as bad as she remembered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into my problems."

  "You haven't dragged me anywhere, Emma," he admitted, taking those inevitable steps closer. He could rest his hands on her shoulders or maybe hold her hands. That seemed safe. He did that, just took both her hands in his. "I've come quite willingly. I'm afraid I'm just not that good at taking care of anyone. I've been on my own for a long time now."

  "I think you're doing just fine at taking care of me. And... Well..."

  She eased up on her tiptoes and placed a frustratingly brief, soft kiss on his lips this time.

  "And I appreciate it. Thank you."

  He just stood there. There was something so innocent about that little kiss. It might as well have been another peck on the cheek, like the one she'd given him earlier when she'd been so scared and he'd held her in his arms.

  Except it rocked him all the way down to his toes again.

  "Emma," he warned, holding himself absolutely still and straight.

  "Hmm?" She brought her hands up to rest ever so lightly against his chest. The delicate touch burned right through the fabric of his shirt. She still smelled so good and the world was spinning oddly around him.

  He hadn't had anyone to hang on to in so long, and how her mere presence could be so comforting and so unsettling at the same time, he could not understand. But he couldn't pry his hands off her.

  "Things are crazy right now," he said.

  "I know. For me, too."

  And yet she stayed stubbornly right there, her face maybe an inch from his. He wanted to tell her she really shouldn't go around kissing men she barely knew, even those little pecks on the cheek. They gave a man ideas.

  But this wasn't him getting ideas. She was inviting something entirely different now. A taste of her. All that sweetness, that innocence.

  "I think I like you," she said. "Is that such a bad thing?"

  "Yes. It's a very bad thing." A complicating thing. A pointless thing. Nothing could ever come of this.

  He still stood here hanging on to her. Her eyes were a smoky green and there was a little gleam in them that told him she thought she was being quite forward and was delighted with herself for it. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were right in front of his.

  In the end, it was the sweet softness of her that got to him. He hadn't held a woman like that in years. There hadn't been any like her, not where he'd been. Surely he could have a little bit of that. Just a taste.

  He touched the tip of her nose with his, nuzzling closer. He heard her catch her breath and thought long and hard about the skin of her cheek, about her mouth, her neck. With her hair piled high, Emma had an absolutely delectable-looking neck.

  Who's to say what he would have done in the end, given the chance. Probably gotten into the same kind of trouble she started. But she lifted her face that last fraction of an inch, and one more time, her lips settled against his.

  They were so very soft. He teased at them with his tongue, at the opening there, thinking, Let me in, Emma. Just like this. It would be enough. He'd make it enough.

  Her mouth opened to his. His entire body tensed at the possibilities. He gave himself up to the wonders of kissing Emma, put his hand to the back of her head, tangled within her hair, which he wanted down. Now.

  His other hand went to the small of her back, arching her against him. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He let his hand slide down to her bottom, cupping it, pressing her against him.

  He could devour her right here in the kitchen.

  "Damn," he said, pulling back.

  He had to remember who he was, what he'd done, what he was here for. This wasn't his place, just some side road he'd taken and found her. She was just a woman in trouble, and he would be moving on before too long.

  "This is a bad idea, Emma."

  She gazed up at him, looking dazed and confused. "What is?"

  "You and me," he admitted. Might as well get it right out there in the open. This was impossible.

  "How do you know?"

  Because it felt too good, and since when did life get to feel this good to him? Since when did anything really good ever last for him?

  "You don't know who I am. You don't know anything about me."

  "So tell me. Tell me who you are and why you came here. Tell me why this is such a bad idea."

  He was still trying to figure out what to say when the phone rang.

  The blood drained from Emma's face at the sound. Poor Emma. She was so scared.

  "I'll get that," he offered.

  Even if it was Sam McRae. They'd settle this once and for all, and he could move on to the next name on his list.

  "No," she said. "I will."

  Chapter 4

  Emma snatched it up and said, "Hello."

  "Em? What's wrong?"

  She let out the breath she'd been holding and said, "Sam. Hi."

  Rye sat down in his chair, not exactly looking relieved.

  "What's wrong?" Sam asked again. "You don't sound like yourself. Is it that boy? Rachel said the two of you broke up."

  "We did."

  "Is that all?" Sam asked.

  "No." Emma hadn't meant to say that. It had just come tumbling out. She'd always told Sam everything. Well, practically everything.

  "Tell me," he insisted.

  "I didn't want to say anything. Not with everything that's going on with Ann and the baby, but..." Emma looked for some fine line she could walk here without spilling the whole thing. "He isn't taking this well, Sam. He's mad, and he's been calling here, even though I've asked him to stop."

  "What happened between the two of you?" Sam asked, steel in his voice.

  "I'll... Can we do this when you and Rachel get here, please? I'm fine, and I'll tell you everything. I promise. Just... not now. Not on the phone, okay?"

  "You're fine?"

  "I am. I promise."

  "Okay, but what did he say?"

  "I think I've embarrassed him, more than anything," she said, thinking how odd to find herself interested in one man while explaining to her father on the phone about the one she'd just left who was stalking her. Her humiliation just went on and on. "His parents were expecting to meet me, and I guess he doesn't want to tell them we broke up. So he's making excuses and waiting for me to get back there, even though I've made it clear I'm not coming."

  Sam started firing off questions. "So he's not listening?"

  "No."

  "Has he threatened you?"

  "No."

  "I think you should come up here. Right now. You don't need to be in that house by yourself. Or you could go to Rachel's sister's or her brother's, her father's. Take your pick."

  It made sense. She knew that, and it was so tempting.

  But it felt like running away. It felt cowardly, and she already felt like such a coward. She already resented the way Mark seemed to have invaded her whole life, making her second-guess everything she'd ever believed about herself and her ability to take care of herself. She didn't want to be anyone's victim, not ever again, and running felt like admitting that she was.

  "I really just want to stay here," Emma said.

  "No," Sam said.

  She frowned, knowing that tone well. Sam didn't use it often and certainly not arbitrarily. But he'd made up his mind. She'd never flat-out refused him anything, because she loved him and trusted him. She knew he loved her.

  Emma looked across the room at Rye, who'd given her the same argument in mu
ch the same way. He'd even sounded like Sam when he did it.

  "What did he say?" Rye asked.

  Sam had just said the same thing. It echoed in her head. What did he say? Not just the words or the tone. The voice.

  They sounded alike.

  Looking up at Rye now, the color and shape of his eyes, that little notch in his chin, the way he simply held himself, he even looked like Sam.

  And he'd come here looking for Sam....

  Not about business, but something personal, and seemed oddly reluctant to even let Sam know it. Why in the world would he do that?

  "Emma?"

  They both said it at once, Sam's voice coming through the phone, Rye's from across the room. It was just the same. She forgot all about Mark and the phone calls, the threats, and the bruise on her face.

  The voices were the same.

  Could it be?

  She thought... just maybe, she was standing here with Sam's long-lost brother.

  It just hit her out of the blue.

  Sam had a brother she'd never seen. One Sam hadn't seen himself in ages. For the longest time, she thought he didn't have anyone at all, and she'd wondered how he'd stood that. She couldn't imagine a world without her siblings, particularly after they'd lost their mother. She'd said something about that one day, and Sam had told her he had a brother but not much else. It had obviously been so hard for him to talk about.

  But she'd always been curious. Where had his brother gone? What had happened to him? Why didn't Sam ever see him? Why did it still hurt Sam so much?

  Emma stared up at Rye. Rye who'd looked so troubled and so reluctant all along. She thought of the way he was so reluctant for Sam to even know he was here, almost like he was testing the situation first, before deciding whether he was willing to reveal his true identity.

  But why? If he really was Sam's brother...

  Emma put her hand over the receiver and faced Rye. "Who are you?"

  He stared for a second, then turned and looked away, up toward the ceiling and through the window and off the back porch, anywhere but at her.

  Wow.

  He looked so uncomfortable, she thought he might head for the door and not come back. She couldn't let that happen.

  "Sam?" she said into the phone. "I'll do something tonight. I'll go somewhere or have someone come stay at the house. Promise."

  "I wish you'd come here," he said.

  "I know... I just... I have some things to figure out on my own. I'll talk to you, tomorrow, okay?"

  "No, it's not okay."

  "Sam—"

  "I know. You're not a little girl anymore."

  He sounded like such a father then, like such a great father. He was having a really hard time with the idea that she was growing up. Not that she seemed to be doing a good job of taking care of herself at the moment.

  But if this was his brother...

  She looked back at Rye, pacing the length of the kitchen. Sam would be so surprised. What a wonderful Christmas present that would be.

  Page forward for an excerpt from Teresa Hill's

  Unbreak My Heart

  Excerpt from

  Unbreak My Heart

  by

  Teresa Hill

  Prologue

  Nine-year-old Allie Bennett woke to a hand shaking her shoulder, a light shining in her eyes. "Allie?" Her mother's voice was odd and tense. "Come on. We have to get up now."

  "Is it morning?" She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her soft pillow. "Do I have school today?"

  "No. No school. It's not morning. But we have to get up. Now."

  "Why?" Allie said. Outside, it was dark. Inside, the only light came from the flashlight her mother held.

  "You and I are going away. Tonight."

  "Away?" she whispered, the first flickering of unease creeping in.

  Her sister, Megan, went away. And never came back.

  Megan ran away six months ago. Allie still missed her desperately. She sneaked into Megan's room sometimes and lay on Megan's bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms clasped around them, and inside she just ached from missing her sister.

  "Why are we going away?" Allie whispered, scared now. It seemed she'd been scared the whole time since Megan disappeared.

  "We just have to. Be a good girl for me and hurry." Her mother went to Allie's closet and flung open the doors. "Get dressed while I pack your things."

  Her mother handed her a pair of jeans and a sweater, socks and her favorite shoes. Still sleepy, she hurried to put them on, watching in growing fear as her mother hastily stuffed things from Allie's closet into two suitcases. Cold, Allie grabbed her favorite doll and sat on her bed wrapped up in her comforter.

  Outside, the rain was loud. At times she heard the crackle and boom of thunder, saw a flash of lightning. Her mother, breathing hard and still wiping away tears, took Allie by the hand and led her down the big, curving staircase to the front door. Two more bags sat there, packed and waiting. From out front, Allie heard a car horn.

  "There's the cab," her mother said, reaching down for the bags.

  There were footsteps behind them. Allie turned and ran to her father. He lifted her into his arms and held her, something he rarely did now that she was so big.

  She held on tight. "Daddy? We're going on a trip?"

  "Oh, baby. I love you. Will you remember that? Always? I love you."

  She nodded gravely. He put her down and went to her mother. There were whispers, strangely intense whispers. Something was terribly wrong. Sick with fear, Allie remembered the morning they woke up and found Megan gone. She wanted to be back upstairs safe in her bed.

  Her mother and father began arguing. Her father said, "Don't do this, Janet. Don't take her away from me." Her mother, weeping, said, "I've already lost one daughter. I'm not going to lose another one."

  And that was that. Her father turned away.

  Allie ran to him and threw herself into his arms once again. "Daddy?" she said urgently. "You're not coming with us?"

  "I'm sorry, baby." She saw tears in his eyes, thought his heart must hurt, just like hers did. "I'm so sorry."

  "For what?" she said. Whatever it was, he'd said he was sorry. When someone said he was sorry, you were supposed to forgive him and be his friend again. Her mother taught her that.

  "If I could go back and change things, I would, Allie," he said. "And I'll always love you."

  There was a rush of air, and the sound of the rain grew louder. Someone must have opened the front door. She buried her face against her father's neck, the next moments a terrifying blur. She remembered screaming and holding onto her father, her mother pulling her away, her father wearing such an odd expression on his face as he watched them disappear into the night.

  Chapter 1

  It was just a house, Allie told herself as she climbed the front steps for the first time in fifteen years and paused outside the massive door of wood and beveled glass.

  Of course, that was like saying this was merely a small town in Kentucky. That it held no power over her. It was like saying all the people now gone from her life were nothing more than her family, like claiming that finding herself virtually alone in the world didn't matter in the least.

  It did.

  So did this house.

  A shiver started at the base of her skull and worked its way down her spine, chilling her through and through. Allie wasn't sure if she could open the door and walk across the threshold. She never expected it to be this hard to come back, never expected anything as ridiculous as an eerie feeling about a house to throw her so off balance. Especially after she'd read the letters and realized she had to come back.

  She was a careful, cautious woman, with her feet planted firmly upon the ground, one who'd spent the past six months watching her last living relative—her mother—die. There wasn't a single, silly, fanciful notion in her head, and certainly not a superstitious one.

  Still, the house seemed to have a power all its own. It st
ood three stories tall, a stately mass of whitewashed stone with white columns on either side of the entrance. Statuesque oaks and broad, full willow trees—weeping willows, for which the road was named—shaded the entire area and hid most of the house from passersby. Rosebushes, azaleas, and all sorts of greenery had run amok throughout the yard, and she could smell the river from here, the scent achingly familiar.

  Outwardly, there was nothing at all sinister about the house, just an air of abandonment, of loneliness, and of isolation. Yet Allie had felt a sense of dread building inside her from the moment she learned it was still standing, that it passed to her mother upon her father's death two and a half years ago, then to Allie at her own mother's death.

  Until then, Allie hadn't even known her own father was dead and buried. She never had a chance to ask why a mother would keep such a thing a secret. Allie had written him letters for years, letters he never answered, letters she now suspected her mother never mailed. She'd found one among her mother's possessions, stamped, addressed, just lying in a box gathering dust, letters in which she'd poured out her heart to a father she believed hadn't cared enough about her to even take the time to write her back. And now there was this thing with her sister... Could her mother have lied to her about what really happened to Allie's sister, too? Why would she ever do that?

  Allie sighed. Why indeed? Maybe for the same reason that fifteen years ago Allie and her mother had run off into the night and never returned. Maybe if she could solve that one mystery, she could solve them all.

  A strong autumn breeze, surprisingly chilly for this early in the fall, whipped around the corner, hissing menacingly as it came and smelling of rain. The wind wrapped itself around Allie, sending shivers through her. It felt like an omen, like someone or something warning her, Don't go inside.

  Unnerved, Allie was grateful to see a car pull into the circular driveway. A statuesque man with stark white hair and a kind smile climbed out of the car.