“I just gave Kit his morning bottle, so he’s in the bouncy chair right here, and Trinity is downstairs doing Declan’s physical therapy exercises with him before the sitter gets here.”
“How are things going?” Karen asked.
“You were right,” Emmy conceded. “Having Declan here is a big help. Yesterday we got about three times more done than I would have been able to do on my own.”
And that had been primarily due to Declan. In fact, Emmy thought that she’d probably accomplished less herself than she would have working alone because she hadn’t had any distractions when she’d worked alone.
But Declan was a major distraction in worn jeans that just loved that divine derriere of his, plus an equally aged chambray shirt that whispered across his muscles. Sleeves rolled to his elbows exposed finely developed forearms, which drew her eyes like a magnet. As did his thick wrists and big hands—two more things that had never caught her attention on anyone else.
And that sculpted face of his shaded under the brim of a cowboy hat? That hair that was perfectly mussed when he took it off? Those forearms or the back of those wrists rubbed across his sweaty brow?
None of it should have had any allure.
But too many times yesterday she’d lapsed into some kind of dazed pause, staring at him gape-jawed.
She’d catch herself, mentally holler at herself and then force herself to get back to work.
Only to do the same thing a few minutes later—all of which had cost her work time.
But he’d gotten a lot accomplished.
And thankfully never caught her ogling him.
“Are you getting along with Declan, then?” her mother asked.
“Well, sure. I’ve never not gotten along with him.”
“That’s not exactly true...” her mother said the way only a mother could. “You know Mandy didn’t understand what was going on with you when it came to Declan. She said you seemed to like him before the bombing and then wouldn’t even let him visit you after it. Then at the wedding reception it sure looked like you liked him, but the next day...you were really rude to him. Embarrassingly rude to him.”
This again, Emmy thought.
She’d been through this more than once with her sister and with her mother.
“I told you, I just wasn’t up for visitors after the school deal. I wanted to get home and put it behind me. And I don’t know why you guys made such a big deal out of dancing a few dances with him at the reception. It was basically just a best man/maid of honor courtesy thing—”
“The only dance you didn’t dance with Declan was the one dance you danced with Daddy. And the two of you sat at the same table—”
“The table for the wedding party,” Emmy pointed out.
“But instead of him staying on the groom’s side, he moved to sit next to you and you didn’t seem to mind...through the whole reception.”
“I’d had a lot to drink,” Emmy said, repeating the excuse she’d given before. “I would have danced with the waiters and the cleaning crew, too, if they’d asked.”
“But then the next day—”
“I was hungover. And there was no reason for Declan and I to have anything to do with each other by then, so I’m sure the fact that I wasn’t cheery couldn’t have mattered less to him either.” Especially after the night he’d had next door with Tracy...
“But you’re being nice to him now, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Emmy assured. “I’m treating him like I’d treat any coworker—because that’s what we are here, just two people working together.”
It was exactly what she’d told herself every time she fell into that trance looking at him.
Which wasn’t only out in the field. There was a time or two around the house, too. Like when he first came upstairs after a shower, smelling all clean and outdoorsy, his hair damp, his face freshly shaven.
Or other times...
Stubbled and scruffy.
Just after his workout.
Coming in from morning chores.
When he was gently roughhousing with Trinity or cradling Kit in those muscular arms.
Almost any given moment for no reason whatsoever...
Why does he—of all men—have to be cologne-ad hot? she silently grumbled.
“It just worries me, is all,” her mother was saying, interrupting Emmy’s wandering thoughts. “For whatever reason, I’ve never seen you be as snarky as you were with Declan after the wedding. And living with any man now, after everything that happened with Bryce, must be hard.”
“I’m not going to punish Declan for Bryce—if that’s what you’re worried about,” Emmy assured her mother.
And she meant it. But what she was doing was using what had happened with Bryce as the glaring reminder to take everything with a grain of salt when it came to Declan. To make sure she did not see the budding of a relationship where it didn’t exist.
Like last night. When Declan had confided who his birth father was.
Instead of believing his choice to share the story with her was something significant, she’d made sure to keep in mind that he’d told her only because his sister was determined to let the world know anyway. That was the significant part and she’d made sure to note it. She couldn’t let herself think that sharing a confidence like that made her something special to him. He’d probably just needed to vent. It wasn’t like he could tell his family. It had to be frustrating to learn that what he’d suffered in order to protect his family from knowing about their mother was now something his sister wanted to rejoice in.
And if he couldn’t tell his family, who else in Northbridge could he tell? Emmy recognized that she was a third party without any connection to any of it—not the town, not his family, not his history. She was just like a stranger on a train—someone safe to air his grievances to, someone safe to reveal an old wound to. But that was all there was to it—a stranger-on-a-train thing.
And the fact that it had occurred to her that they had something in common when it came to keeping a big secret and trying to bear that secret without burdening their families? She’d refused to see that as a foundation for any kind of bond between them.
They were two people with nothing but a superficial connection, caught up in circumstances that put them together for the time being. If, during that time, they got to know things about each other, it was just something that was bound to happen. It didn’t go beyond that, and she could not, should not, would not view it as having the potential of developing into anything substantial.
Period.
To think anything more, to expect anything more, was just asking to be brought up short again.
“So the two of you are getting along?” her mother asked, interrupting her thoughts a second time.
“We’re getting along just fine.”
“I think he’s a good man,” Karen Tate said, changing to matchmaker mode.
“I’m sure he is,” Emmy agreed as if it was totally unimportant to her.
“So maybe you should give him a chance...”
She had given him a chance. And he’d passed it up.
But she was too proud—and embarrassed—to tell her mother that. Instead she said, “Let’s see... Clean up an entire farm from the damage of one of the worst hailstorms this town has ever seen. Replant fields—something I haven’t the foggiest idea how to do. Take care of two kids. Lease this place so I can move those two kids back to Denver with me and be their mom. Find someplace for us to live that can’t be my tiny apartment. Restart the business I’ve had to leave hanging while I’ve been here. And try to hook up with a career military man who won’t even be on this continent as soon as he can arrange it. All just months after being dumped by the guy I thought was going to marry me? That does seem like a good idea, Mom.”
“See? You can be snarky,” her mother said lovingl
y.
“I can also not deal with any more than I already have.”
“I know that’s true,” Karen conceded. “It just seems a shame when there you are, with such a good man—”
Who prefers Brazilian bombshells...
“I have to go, Mom. I can hear him and Trinity coming upstairs and I need to get the kids dressed,” Emmy said, thrilled to have a reason to end this conversation.
“I just feel so much better that you aren’t there alone, that you have help.”
“Me, too. Don’t forget the cameras and stuff.”
“I won’t. I’ll check in with you in a day or so, but call me if you need me,” Karen said and hung up.
None too soon, as far as Emmy was concerned.
Because as difficult as it was to ignore Declan’s physical attributes, as difficult as it was not to feel closer to him after an evening like the last one with him, where it had felt like a barrier between them might have dropped a little, as difficult as it was to end that evening imagining that he might be on the verge of kissing her—and having to fight the crazy wish that he would—the last thing she needed was her mother or anyone else pointing out more about him that was appealing.
It was hard enough to remember that, when it came to her, he wasn’t interested.
She didn’t need more reasons to forget that she wasn’t interested in him either.
* * *
“Kiss ’n make it better.” That was Trinity’s recommendation.
Emmy and Declan had continued clearing the hail-damaged fields until late that afternoon when a beekeeper from the co-op came as scheduled.
All three of them had suited up for the beekeeper’s visit so they could survey the damage to the hives and so the beekeeper could teach Emmy and Declan what to do to repair that damage and keep the hives going.
During the course of that, Emmy had apparently not completely secured the veil of her headgear and she’d been stung on the back of the neck.
The initial pain was severe, gradually turning into a dull ache. But she knew she wasn’t allergic, so she hadn’t made a big deal of it.
As the evening wore on, though, the sting began to hurt and burn much worse, and she could feel it swelling even more.
The last thing she wanted to do was ask a personal favor of Declan. But the sting was in a place she couldn’t see. So once Kit was asleep and Trinity was choosing her bedtime book, Emmy gave in and asked him to look at it.
“Huh... That looks like it hurts...”
She was bent over the sink in the bathroom connected to the master bedroom where the light was brightest. Declan was standing next to her, his height an advantage. But he was close enough for her to feel the heat of his body, to smell the clean scent of the soap he’d used to shower before dinner, and she was unnerved by what those two things did to her. So she was relieved when Trinity joined them.
She just wasn’t quite as pleased with the three-year-old’s kiss-it-and-make-it-better idea.
Especially when Emmy found herself the tiniest bit inclined for him to do it...
“Maybe we shouldn’t have trusted an eighty-two-year-old with half-inch-thick glasses to tell us there wasn’t a stinger,” Declan mused. “Because I think there’s one in there. I’m gonna need some tweezers.”
Emmy straightened up, opened the door to the medicine cabinet and found the tweezers. Then she handed them to him.
“Is this like a thorn?” she asked. “Do you have to dig for it?”
“Not sure—I’ve never done this before. But I think I can grab it... Just hold still.”
Back in position—with Trinity now observing from her seat on the closed toilet lid—Emmy said, “Okay, do it.”
Declan placed a big hand on one of her shoulders.
There was nothing to the gesture but to brace himself or maybe to hold her steady, but still she was abundantly aware of the feel of that hand on her, of the size and strength of it. Even through the T-shirt she was wearing, his touch sent what felt like a warm electrical charge to her nerve endings.
Which maybe had a good side to it because she was thinking so much about his touch that she didn’t even feel what he was doing with the stinger before he said, “Got it!”
He didn’t take his hand from her shoulder, though. He left it there while he took another look at the back of her neck.
“I think you’d better ice this—it’s pretty red and about the size of a golf ball.”
“Kiss ’n make it better,” Trinity insisted as if they were overlooking the easiest cure.
There was just enough of a pause from Declan to make Emmy wonder if he was considering it.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
That theory was confirmed when he swept Trinity off the toilet seat and held her up behind Emmy. “Go ahead, kiss it and make it better,” he instructed the little girl.
Sweet Trinity did just that.
And Emmy wondered if the bee venom was affecting her powers of reason because she felt a wave of something wash through her that almost felt like a letdown.
“Better?” Trinity asked after the kiss.
“Oh, much better,” Emmy lied.
“Now read a book?” the little girl asked.
“How about I read your book tonight,” Declan offered hopefully, “so Emmy can go put that bag of frozen peas I saw in the freezer on her bee sting?”
“Em reads, you watch,” Trinity decreed, still resisting altering her routine.
“Then I’ll get the peas and bring them up,” he said, taking the rejection in stride the way he had every other night so far.
While he went downstairs, Emmy took Trinity into the bedroom and got her situated in bed. Then she sat beside her niece on top of the covers with the picture book Trinity had chosen tonight.
Declan was back with the frozen peas just as Emmy was about to start.
“I brought you an antihistamine, too,” he informed her, handing her the bag, a small pill and a glass of water. “I think you might be having a little reaction to the sting.”
Emmy didn’t argue. She took the pill.
But when she tipped her head back to swallow it, her gaze went to the ceiling. “Uh-oh—is that water coming in over there in the corner?”
It had been raining for about an hour—not hard enough to cause her to worry about the hail-damaged roof. But one look at that dark spot on the ceiling and that worry started.
“That’s what it looks like to me,” Declan agreed. “I’ll go up in the attic and check it out.”
Emmy was suddenly happy that Trinity had again chosen her to read the bedtime story, leaving Declan free to head to the attic. Just the thought of that small space made her uncomfortable.
Trying to ignore it, she read Trinity the book, then tucked her niece in, kissed her good-night and left the room.
Only to find Declan just coming down the steps that led to the attic.
“There’s a pretty bad leak we’d better deal with,” he said when he saw her.
We?
Emmy felt her entire body clench. “On the roof?” she said hopefully, far, far preferring the idea of climbing onto a slippery rain-soaked roof in a storm to the thought of going up into a cramped attic.
Declan looked at her as if she’d missed something. “We can’t patch the roof in the dark, in the rain.”
“I’ll find you a bucket, then. You can put it under the leak for tonight,” she said, searching for any solution that would keep her out of that attic.
“It’s coming in too fast for that. There’s some scrap plywood up there. I’ll need you to hold it in place and I’ll nail it up. Just let me get the hammer and the nails—”
“You’re sure you need me?” she said, working hard to keep the anxiety that was running through her out of her voice.
“I’
m sure,” he said, his confusion at her hesitation clear. “It won’t be hard. You just need to hold up the wood while I nail it.”
What was she going to do, refuse something that sounded so simple? Tell him that in almost four and a half years she hadn’t taken an elevator and instead chalked up always using the stairs to a good cardio workout?
In a moment of what she considered truly stupid fear she actually considered getting Trinity out of bed and having her hold the plywood for him.
But she knew she couldn’t do that either, so she said, “Okay, get the hammer and nails,” and hoped she could use the few minutes he’d be gone to get a hold of herself.
Declan went downstairs, and Emmy began to take deep breaths, to exhale them slowly, to put all she had into calming herself down.
She told herself that she could do this. She’d gotten so much better. She hadn’t had any problem seeing Declan at the wedding or again here in Northbridge. It had been more than three years since she’d had a panic attack. Surely that meant she was over those initial problems she’d had right after the explosion.
She told herself that it was natural to be worried that the attic might set her off again—but being worried about it didn’t mean that the worst would happen. It hadn’t with Declan, she kept reminding herself. If she stayed in control, kept breathing, focused on what she needed to do, reminded herself that she wasn’t trapped, that within minutes she would be able to leave the attic, maybe she’d be okay...
She heard Declan coming back up the steps and opened her eyes.
You can do this...
“Why don’t you grab some towels to sop up what’s already come in so it doesn’t keep soaking through to Trinity’s room,” he said.
“Sure,” Emmy agreed, eager for even that much of a delay.
Once she had the towels, though, she didn’t have a choice but to follow Declan up the stairs, knowing she wasn’t faring well when she didn’t even care that she got to see his great derriere up ahead of her.
You can do this, she silently repeated to herself at the foot of the steps.
She took another deep breath and climbed the first stair, her knee actually wobbling when she put her weight on it.
The Marine's Family Mission Page 9
