There’d been five more just like that first one. Swimming, canoeing, archery. Campfires. KP. Emily laughing at his jokes, daring him to races, letting him steal a kiss when they were thirteen years old.
There’d been many kisses after that.
He’d gone on to high school and to excel in sports, especially the sport of flirting with girls—lots of girls. But the summers had belonged to Emily. He’d belonged to Emily. He’d worn the bracelet she macraméd and she’d put on his Paxton Panthers Football sweatshirt when the nights turned chilly. That last day of that last summer, they’d lain on their backs, shoulder to shoulder in the warm grass. With the scent of pine in their lungs and the sweet flavor of first love on their tongues, they’d daydreamed about the future. Their entwined hands had been sweaty, but neither one of them had broken their grasp as they promised to marry each other if they were still single by thirty.
He couldn’t remember what had prompted the conversation or what caused him to make the vow. Marriage hadn’t been on his mind.
Only Emily.
But then he’d gone home and a tragedy one rainy September night had changed his life forever. No, not forever, he hastened to assure himself. As a matter of fact, he’d just recently gotten his life back. And no impulsive, impromptu Las Vegas wedding was going to return him to the box of endless responsibilities to others he’d been trapped inside for the last thirteen years.
Sucking in a deep breath, he allowed himself a few more minutes to observe her from afar. Maybe then he’d figure out how Emily had gotten under his adult, on-his-first-vacation-in-forever skin so fast that he’d done something as ridiculous as stand in front of an Elvis impersonator and say “I do.”
She looked like an adult now too, in a little khaki-colored dress that was buttoned up to her chin and ironed within an inch of its life. Her shiny brown hair was too short to braid. It swirled around her heart-shaped face, with bangs that skimmed her straight brows and framed those startling blue eyes. Her nose was short, just like the rest of her, and her mouth looked soft. It was soft. Hot, too. He remembered—
“Wild Will!”
At the sound of the old nickname, Will jerked around to stare at a young man who looked vaguely familiar. He searched through his mental Rolodex. “Uh…Jared? Jon? Um…”
“Jake.” The kid extended a hand and pumped Will’s in an exuberant handshake. “I’m one of Betsy’s friends. Pool party? I hit my head on the side and you drove me to the E.R.?”
“Oh, yeah.” It wasn’t the first time he’d had to play nursemaid to one of his siblings’ friends. And it hadn’t made much of an impression, as accustomed as he was to playing parent to his brothers and sisters.
“What’s Betsy up to these days?”
“Graduated from college.” He couldn’t keep his grin to himself. His youngest sister, out of his hair and on her own. After thirteen years of worry, thirteen years of second-guessing his every move, thirteen years of pretending he knew what the hell he was doing when his siblings looked to him for security and support, he was finally free of family.
Free of care.
“She out of the house?”
“Yep. They’re all out of the house.”
Jake must have heard the relief and satisfaction in his voice because his smile widened. “Whoa-ho. You look like a man ready to make up for lost time. Now it’s Wild Will’s turn to play, huh?”
Wild Will. There it was again, that old nickname. The one he’d had in high school. The one he’d lived up to—to a point, anyway—because his summers belonged to Emily. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and saw that she was still frowning over the papers on the reference desk, oblivious to his presence.
God, if only he’d been oblivious to hers in Vegas. But their casual glances had met and they’d both halted their footsteps, stunned to see each other again.
He was still stunned. Of all the women in all the world to meet up with just weeks after he’d promised himself it was finally, finally his turn to fly high.
Only to fall flat on his ass by getting himself hitched instead.
“I’ve got a lot of living to do,” he told Jake, though he was really reminding himself. “I’ve been tied down for too long.”
“I hear ya, man,” Jake said, laughter sparkling in his eyes. “But, hey, a library doesn’t seem like the first place I’d go if I was looking for good times.” His gaze roamed the room, then his eyes widened. “On the other hand, I don’t remember the librarians looking like that.”
Will frowned. “Looking like—”
The kid let out a low wolf whistle. “Maybe she’d let me check her out instead of a book.”
Annoyed, Will shot a look Emily’s way and then glared at Jake. He didn’t know who made him more irritated, the woman for not appearing like a librarian should or the younger man for practically drooling over Will’s wife.
Oh, God. His wife.
“Yeah,” the younger man continued, rubbing his palms together. “I wonder what it would take to get her between the, uh, stacks.”
“Listen, Jake,” he heard himself grind out. Then his pager went off, saving him from making a fool of himself. He glanced down at the read-out. Groaned.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s my captain. People have been falling like flies thanks to some flu going around. It’s my day off, but now I’ve got to go in.”
“Ah, too bad.” Jake clapped him on the shoulder. “But cheer up. You’ll get your wild on, I just know it.”
Will turned toward the door, then gave a swift glance over his shoulder once more. Yeah, he was definitely going to get his wild on. Just as soon as he got that wedding ring off Emily’s finger.
Chapter Two
The day after the “Firefighters’ Flu” had left the station house shorthanded, Will returned to the library. He’d gone home for a shower and some sleep after his extra shift ended. The night had been a busy one and he didn’t think it was smart to confront Emily without charging his batteries first. But now, wide awake after a second shower and two cups of coffee, it was time to get the ball rolling on their…breakup.
He yanked open the glass door and his gaze instantly found Emily—again at the reference desk, again looking incredibly sexy. But now wasn’t the time to be thinking of that three-letter word, the one starting with an s and ending in an x, he decided with a grimace. Not when she looked so curvy and so damn appealing in a sweater that matched the startling blue of her eyes. And not when she was surrounded by a trio of teenagers clutching pencils and worksheets and gazing at her like she was a goddess.
“Ninety-five theses,” she said, laughing. “Martin Luther posted ninety-five theses on the door of the church.” Then she whisked her hands at them. “That’s the last one. I’m sure your European History teacher sent you to find the answers at the library from books, not from the reference librarian.”
“One more, please,” a boy pleaded, his strong build and football jersey making clear where he spent his Friday nights. “I have to be at practice in twenty minutes and if I don’t get this done I won’t have time later for my English reading.”
Emily was already shaking her head, but then her gaze caught on Will as he approached the group. Her cheeks flushed and he saw her swallow. “Well, um, I, um, I suppose…”
“Ms. Garner always had a soft spot for football players,” Will commented, coming to a stop behind the kids.
Her gaze darted to him again even as the tall high schooler grinned and glanced down at the paper he was holding. “Sweet. What’s that other one we need, guys?”
“Who wrote The Prince?” the girl of the group piped up. “That’s the last one.”
Frowning, the other boy squinted down at his own worksheet. “I have that. It’s the Marquis de Sade.”
“Eww,” the girl squealed. “It is not. The Marquis de Sade was the whips and chains dude.”
The football player turned to eye her with new interest. “Amanda? How do you know about whip
s and chains? I bet you’ve never even been French kissed.”
“I have too!” The girl flipped her straight blond hair over her shoulder. “I’ll have you know that—” she broke off and slapped her paper against the now-laughing athlete’s arm. “Brent Spier, you’re nosy and annoying.”
“And loud. All three of you are too loud,” Emily put in, then lowered her voice. “The author of The Prince was Niccolò Machiavelli, and he’s been given a bad rap, if you ask me. His name has come to stand for cynicism and unscrupulousness, when he was in fact bothered by the immorality of his age and was just writing about the political reality of the times.”
But her short history lesson was completely ignored by the students as they quickly filled in the last blank on their papers—hesitating only to ask how to spell Machiavelli—and then they were dashing out of the library.
Leaving Will alone with his wife.
But now that he had her undivided attention, he didn’t quite know where to start. It wasn’t cowardice, it was…something else that was causing him to hesitate. But damned if he’d let her think she had the upper hand on him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he told himself that today they were going to play things his way.
Still, he glanced in the direction of the teenagers’ hasty retreat instead of rushing the topic. “Were we ever that young?” he asked, stalling.
She shrugged, her cheeks still pinker than normal. “Hard to imagine. But I’m pretty certain I didn’t know anything about the Marquis de Sade at sixteen.”
“But you knew plenty about French kissing.”
Her face flushed again, and he didn’t even feel bad about it, because God, thinking of Emily and French kissing had him heating up, too. The first time they’d kissed, he’d been too scared to do more than brush his lips against hers. It had been that way the several times they’d kissed at thirteen and fourteen. But the summer he was fifteen, following an experience that previous winter when an older girl had introduced him to a more European technique, he’d taken his kisses with Emily to a new level.
In Las Vegas, following that initial stunned moment of recognition, he’d hugged her first then bussed her cheek with his lips. But later that night, as they danced to something that had the sensuous beat of a languid pulse, he’d bent over her mouth and without a thought he’d touched her wet, hot tongue with his. In the space of that kiss he’d become aware of two things, one amazing—they fit together as if no time had passed between them—and the other crucial—that neither of them was a kid any longer.
They were now adults and he’d wanted to indulge like an adult.
But not get married!
Shaking his head, he stepped closer to the desk. It was time to tackle the subject. “What the hell were we thinking?”
Emily lifted her shoulders and spread her hands, apparently not needing further clarification. “I read they super-oxygenate the air in the casinos. Maybe we were kind of…”
“Drugged?” Because God knew he’d felt dizzy the entire time they’d spent together. But was that the casino’s fault…or hers? Because when he’d realized he was still in Las Vegas but without Emily, the crash had come. Slam, bam, the realization had hit him, hard. Wild Will had done the stupidest thing a man who wanted to start living it up could do. “And then you ran out on me, Em. And Izzy on Owen. What the hell was up with that?”
She bit her bottom lip. “How is Owen? Izzy had some back-to-back jobs lined up she had to get to. But she promised to call him as soon as she could. Has, um, has Owen heard from her?”
“She left him a message, pretty much on par with the one you left for me.”
Emily ignored the last part of his remark. “I’m glad she contacted him. She can be a little, um, hard to pin down.”
“Unlike yourself?” he asked dryly.
She bit her bottom lip again, making it appear darker and wetter. “What can I say, Will?”
“You can tell me what you thought you were going to accomplish by leaving me hanging like that.”
Her hands busied themselves with a stack of paper on the desktop. Then they moved on to straightening the pens and pencils in a nearby mug.
Understanding dawned. “It’s the Danielle Phillips thing, isn’t it?” he said, shaking his head. “It’s the Danielle Phillips thing all over again.”
Emily looked up at him, surprise written on her face. “I haven’t thought of Danielle Phillips in years.”
“But this is just like that. You used to avoid unpleasant subjects, hoping they’d just go away. Remember? You knew Danielle Phillips was stealing things from your cabin, you actually found your favorite necklace under her pillow, but it took you forever to do anything about it.” Exasperated, he glared at her. “Damn it, Emily, you should know by now that some things have to be faced head-on.”
“It was my favorite necklace because you’d given it to me.”
Just like that, three-quarters of his bad mood evaporated. He’d brought her the necklace their last summer together as a belated birthday gift. It was nothing original—a sterling silver heart strung on a matching chain—but he’d agonized over it like no gift before or since. On the back he’d had their names engraved. Will + Emily.
He shook his head to dislodge the memory. He didn’t want to be Will + Emily. He’d been Will + for the last thirteen years. Will + Siblings. Will + Responsibilities. Will-all that was what he wanted for himself. Now single Will sounded good. Unencumbered Will sounded even better. Wild Will best of all.
Surely Emily would understand that their quickie marriage needed to end with just the same amount of speed.
“Em…”
“Will Dailey!”
At the sound of the familiar voice, he squeezed shut his eyes, doing an Emily in hopes that the unpleasantness could be avoided. But he’d had thirteen years of practice knowing that whether it was a pile of dirty laundry or an empty gas tank in the family car, most things wouldn’t go away on their own. He turned to confront his sister, Jamie, barreling down on him.
She had a toddler’s hand clutched in hers. On her hip, the baby was chewing its little fist, and drool was running from the wet skin to collect on his sister’s shirt sleeve. “You!” Jamie said, coming toe-to-toe with him. “In a library?”
Without a by-your-leave, she passed the infant over to him. He accepted the warm bundle—did he have a choice?—and remained stoic as Baby Polly started gumming his shoulder instead of her own fist. His nephew flung himself at Will’s knees and wrapped around his legs like a parasitic vine.
“Todd,” he said, wincing. “Be careful. The only toe-holds in Uncle Will’s shins are the ones you dug into his bones the last time we were together.”
Jamie’s hands were free to be propped on her hips. “I’m so glad I ran into you. None of us have seen you in ages and I wanted to ask you something.”
“No. I have to work.”
She frowned, and brushed a strand of her boy-cut hair off her forehead. “When do you have to work?” she asked, a suspicious note in her voice.
“Any time you need me to babysit, or help build a fence, or assist in painting your family room.”
“Will…”
That plaintive note in her voice was not going to move him. Didn’t she get it? Hadn’t she been listening? He’d made it clear to every single one of them that the minute his youngest sister was on her own he wanted to be on his own, too. He’d managed to avoid most of his siblings all summer. Ducking out of barbecues and Sunday dinners, and even one birthday party—his. He’d asked for solitude as his gift from the sibs.
Well, solitude of a sort. More than once, he’d gone out for beers with his buddies from the station and had spent the evening contemplating the joys of taking home one of the very lovely ladies he’d spotted at the bar. That he hadn’t actually brought one back to his now-empty abode was beside the point.
“I’m busy,” he reiterated, then kissed the baby on the top of her head and handed her back. Todd had already lost interest
in Uncle-Will-as-tree and was sitting on the floor, accepting a picture book that the librarian was handing him.
The librarian. Emily.
“I’m very busy,” he told Jamie, sending a sidelong look at his wife and sharpening his voice so his sister would get the hint. He had very busy business with Emily.
Jamie got the hint, all right. She glanced at Emily and her eyes widened, too. “Oh. Oh.” Her hand shot out. “Hi. I’m this guy’s sister. Jamie. Jamie Scott. That’s Todd, and the baby is Polly.”
Emily shook Jamie’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Emily Garner. I’m Will’s…”
Oh, hell. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—his family would never let him hear the end of it if they found out what he’d done in Vegas. “She’s my friend,” he blurted out, with another meaningful look, this time shot at the librarian. “My old friend Emily from camp.”
Jamie’s eyes went even wider. “Emily from camp?”
Too late, Will remembered that he might have—a time or two—told Jamie about her. She was the next oldest after him, and they’d been close as teenagers. Later, he’d taken on a more parental role with her, but still, he’d confided in her on occasion. About Emily.
“This is perfect,” Jamie gushed, bringing the hairs on the back of Will’s neck to attention. “Say you’ll come tomorrow night! It’s just a little get together. I live only a couple of blocks away.”
Will hastened to play wet blanket. “Emily just moved here not long ago—”
“All the more reason for her to meet some people, don’t you think?” She turned away from Will. “What do you say, Emily? You’ve just got to come. You’re going to come, right? Say yes.”
“Um, well, um, okay,” she said, looking a bit flattened by the steamroller that was his sister Jamie. “I suppose I actually wouldn’t mind…”
“Then it’s all set. Tomorrow night. Six o’clock. 632 Orange. Or shall we get Will to pick you up?”
Emily glanced over at him. “I can find it. And I think Will said he was working.”
Jamie grinned. “We’ll just see about that.” She linked her arm with Will’s. “C’mon brother. I need your help.”
I Still Do Page 2
