So no, he didn’t have any more reservation about her based on how she’d acted that first time they’d met.
But there was still the wedding.
Of course he also understood that she would have been scared as hell to see him again, worried that he’d still trigger her.
But once she’d known it wasn’t going to happen, she’d warmed up to him only to do a complete one-eighty the next morning for no reason.
At least no reason he knew about.
But he hadn’t known what was going on with her in Afghanistan either. Maybe he was in the dark about something that had happened at the wedding, too.
And if he was, then maybe he was judging her too harshly.
Maybe now that he knew the truth about Afghanistan, he should back off a little with what he’d been thinking had happened at the wedding. Maybe it hadn’t been unaccountable capriciousness and instead had a logical reason, too.
On this third go-round together her disposition had been pretty steady, he admitted. Yeah, she’d been cool toward him at first but maybe that was for the same reason she’d been initially standoffish at the wedding—maybe she’d still been afraid that seeing him, hearing his voice, would upset the applecart. When it hadn’t, she’d progressively warmed up. Like at the wedding.
And maybe she’d just continue to warm up this time...
It took him a moment but he mentally stomped out that thought.
Emmy had enough going on in her life already, and so did he. He wasn’t going to complicate things any more than they already were by kissing her.
Conor had just told him he was doing well enough to pass his medical evaluation, so as soon as that happened, he could get back to where he belonged.
Emmy was on a completely different trajectory and what she needed—what she deserved—was someone who could be a real and present partner for her. And he couldn’t muddy the waters they were in now just because he might be attracted to her.
Okay, not just might be. There was no question that he was attracted to her and it got worse all the time—like last night when she was in the throes of that damn panic attack and he’d watched that indomitable strength of hers struggle to fight it rather than just cave into it.
He’d had the impression that she hadn’t cared for his description of her as tough. But for him, seeing that in her only made him like her more.
Add the things he was learning about her pluck and feistiness to that silky hair and that face he couldn’t get enough of, to that body his hands were itching to touch, and yeah, he was attracted to her.
But he couldn’t let it run wild, and he wouldn’t.
So maybe it would be better if he didn’t give her a second benefit of the doubt, he thought wryly. If he hung on to thinking she was just some prickly, unpredictable prima donna who could change on a dime for no good reason.
No doubt that would be a whole lot easier for him to resist. And as it was, he wasn’t completely confident that he could resist what was going through him.
But still, to be fair, he knew he had to reserve judgment on her day-after-the-wedding gear-switch now. Even if it did make things harder on him.
Emmy just had more to her than he’d realized either of the times their paths had crossed before.
And he had to remember that while what he was discovering made him like her even more—which made it harder on him—those things would serve Trinity and Kit well. It was just too bad that everything he liked about her made it harder to stop himself from touching her. He had to suck it up and keep his hands off her.
Suck it up, keep his hands off her, get done what needed to be done here and then get back to his unit.
And if the thought of putting her in his rearview mirror suddenly bothered him a little?
He just needed to suck that up, too.
* * *
“So... First a standing ovation and handshaking at the town meeting and then more handshaking at the end of the co-op meeting afterward... I didn’t know I was going to be with a celebrity tonight,” Emmy teased Declan as they left Northbridge’s courthouse.
“Yeah, what was that?” he said, clearly still as stunned by his reception now as he had been when it had all happened.
They were walking along a nearly deserted Main Street, headed for the ice-cream shop.
“I’m pretty sure it was what that old guy said when he announced he was proud of the man you’d made of yourself. I think they were letting you know that nothing that happened when you were a kid is being held against you anymore. That they appreciate you for who you are now and what you’ve done is all that matters.”
“Not to Greg Kravitz,” Declan said as if that refuted her opinion. “I spotted him the minute we walked in—he was the guy slouching in the faded red sweatshirt just to the right—”
“I know,” Emmy said, cutting him off. She decided now to let him know that she wasn’t a stranger to his bully. “I know who he is. I’ve been going to the co-op meetings, and he has a problem with the organic farmers—”
“Something about organic farming interferes with his lawn-mowing and snow-shoveling business?”
“He doesn’t like that the organic farmers don’t use pesticides. He thinks not using them basically causes more bugs on his bushes.”
Declan laughed wholeheartedly at that.
Lately he was smiling more readily, more easily, but that was the first time she’d heard such a spontaneous and genuine laugh from him. And as good as his smile was, his deep barrel-chested laugh was even better.
“Bugs on his bushes?” he repeated. “He didn’t really put it that way, did he?”
“No, but that’s what he gripes about in a nutshell. The point is, the guy is just a jerk all the way around. He actually thought it was a good idea about a month ago at a co-op meeting to tell me everything he didn’t like about what my sister and Topher had been doing as organic farmers, and then—as if that would make me want to go out with him—he asked me on a date.”
“A date...” Declan said, not sounding as if he approved of that idea. “Did you go?”
It almost seemed as if there was a tinge of jealousy in that.
Emmy nixed that notion, telling herself if was ridiculous, and said, “No, I didn’t go. I could already tell he was a jerk. But tonight there must have been eighty or ninety people at the town meeting and I only saw three not stand for you. Plus there was all that handshaking... No matter what you say, that was a warm welcome and I don’t think you should let a jerk tarnish it.”
“Yeah,” Declan conceded with a lack of vigor.
He was clearly still embarrassed by the attention. But there was something else in his tone that said he wasn’t buying into the admiration without reservation either and it was that that Emmy addressed.
“You don’t think the warm welcome was sincere?”
He shrugged. “I’m just thinking that the reception would have been different if the whole Camden thing was getting a fresh airing out—the way it will if Kinsey has her way and publicly connects us with them.”
Emmy understood that he had old scars from that. But especially after seeing what she’d seen tonight—through eyes that weren’t viewing it with the haze of distrust—she wasn’t as convinced as he was.
“Or it wouldn’t change anything now that you’re recognized on your own for what you’ve done,” she persisted.
Declan’s lack of response to that relayed the message that he wasn’t so sure, but since they’d reached the ice-cream shop he had a reason not to say more.
Contrasting the rest of Main Street where most everything was already closed, at the ice-cream shop they ran into a bit of a crowd.
Some were people they’d already encountered at the meeting but some weren’t. And while Emmy sensed Declan tense up again and knew he was wondering if he still might meet with negative re
actions, he was again only greeted warmly.
There were more condolences for the recent loss of his mother. More gratitude for his service. More concern for his health—stemming from a common knowledge that he’d been seriously injured. There were also more reassurances that while everyone mourned the loss of Topher, they were glad he had survived.
Then Emmy and Declan were back on Main Street with their ice cream, and while Emmy was tempted to point out once again that things here were different now, she decided to just let it all sink in on its own.
Instead she said, “I have to say, I can see some of the reasons Mandy liked it here. I know you don’t really agree, but I think it’s a nice little town.”
“Good and bad,” he answered.
“You were right about the ice cream—it’s great,” Emmy said, enjoying her fudge-swirled chocolate. “So what’s bad—not counting your own private hell years ago?”
He handed her one of the napkins he was carrying.
“Do I have ice cream somewhere?” she asked, assuming that was the reason and stopping to use a store window as a mirror.
Granted it wasn’t a sharp image but all she saw was what she’d seen in the mirror at home before they’d left—clean jeans, a crocheted tank top peeking from behind the plunging V-neck of her lightweight red sweater, all ice-cream-free. She didn’t have anything dribbling down her chin either, and noted that the extra attention she’d paid to makeup tonight still served to make her look far better than she had after her day in the field. Even her hair had kept the bounce she’d put into it by carefully blow-drying it.
Declan had stopped behind her, and since he was taller he was in the reflection, too. She saw him slowly shake his head, his smile sly. “Take a look at the napkin,” he instructed.
There was a phone number on it.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Mindy Hargrove’s number.”
Mindy Hargrove was the woman who had scooped their ice cream—Declan had introduced them.
“She wouldn’t give me the time of day when we were in school,” he went on. “But she slipped me that when you turned your back and whispered that she’s still single. The dating pool in a small town is limited and it can make for some dog-eat-dog competition—that’s definitely not a good thing about a small town.”
Emmy almost thought that what she felt in response to the ice-cream scooper giving Declan her phone number might be jealousy.
“Huh. Dog-eat-dog is a little nicer than I might put it,” Emmy commented. “For all she knew we could be a couple.”
But she didn’t want Declan to know just how miffed she was. In order to appear as if it didn’t bother her, she said, “Of course you will need company at your sister’s wedding. Unless you’re just counting on another bridesmaid...”
Oh, that wasn’t the tack to take, she thought after the words had slipped out, hating all over again how much his rejection of her that night had stung, telling herself once more that it shouldn’t have.
“I don’t know what I’d be counting on a bridesmaid for...” Declan said as if he was confused by the remark.
What he did with Tracy is none of my business, she told herself firmly. Any more than it was her business what he did with the ice cream scooper’s number.
“I never liked Mindy Hargrove,” he said then, moving on from Emmy’s comment. “But you wanted to know what’s bad about a small town, and one of the things is that the social scene can get pretty stagnant for anyone who sticks around. You end up with Mindy Hargroves slipping their numbers to people they shouldn’t slip their numbers to, and Greg Kravitzes pouncing on newbies. So be glad you live in Denver, where you have more options.”
Emmy chose not to say anything to that and instead handed him back the napkin—which he tossed into the nearest trash receptacle without a backward glance as they finished their ice cream and headed for the truck they’d come into town in.
But once they were pulling out of the parking lot with Declan driving, he said, “So do you have better dating options than Greg Kravitz in Denver?”
“I haven’t dated for a while,” Emmy answered with an edge to her voice.
“No?” he asked. Then, as if it had just dawned on him, he said, “I don’t know why but I’ve just been figuring that you’re single... Maybe because I am... I mean, you haven’t mentioned anyone or been talking to somebody waiting for you in Denver or... But look at you—of course there’s a guy already in the picture so you don’t have to date...”
“There’s no guy in the picture at all. Not anymore. Not since December.”
“Sore subject?” he asked.
“Aren’t most breakups?”
“Not in my experience,” he said. “But this one of yours didn’t end well?”
“It didn’t end where I thought it would,” she said with some self-reproach.
“Do you want me to shut up or can I know about it?”
It sounded as if he wanted to know, so Emmy considered telling him.
It wasn’t a secret, she decided, so she said, “His name is Bryce Hutchinson—as in Hutchinson Industries.”
“Bigwigs?” Declan asked as if the name didn’t ring a bell.
“Definitely. Bryce liked to say that there wasn’t a building in the state that didn’t have one of their nuts or bolts in them.”
“Rich bigwigs like the Camdens,” Declan said as if that similarity alone condemned her ex.
“I don’t know how the math matches up, but I’d guess yes, like the Camdens.”
“And both families are in Denver?”
“Right.”
“So when you were dating him, did you hang out with the Camdens—like at the same balls and galas and whatever it is the rich do?”
“No. I mean, the Hutchinsons and the Camdens probably were at a lot of the same functions, but I never went to those. Which should have been a really big red flag but I didn’t see it,” she said with more self-criticism.
“A red flag for what?”
“For the fact that I wasn’t going to make the cut.” The contempt in her tone then wasn’t aimed at herself.
“To be a Hutchinson?” Declan clarified quietly.
“Yes. That’s what he said anyway. His birthday was December 1 and he said that since he was turning forty, he needed to settle down, get married, start having kids to carry on the Hutchinson name.”
Emmy fought not to let the lingering hurt from those words echo in her voice. When she thought she had more control she went on, “But he said he’d thought it over and he couldn’t do those things with me because I just didn’t make the cut. He needed someone with experience in the same circles, with a higher pedigree—”
“Like a dog?” There was outrage in that.
“That’s what I said.” And it was slightly comforting to have someone else react the way she had.
“He’d told me he wanted to have a special dinner that night, to dress up...” Emmy went on, unable to completely keep the hurt out of her tone. “I was so clueless, I thought he was going to propose. Instead the dinner was to cushion the blow—one last hurrah, as he put it—before we needed to halt our relationship so he could really get down to the business of finding a wife.”
“Are you kidding?” Declan said.
Emmy didn’t feel the need to assure him she wasn’t.
“Where did you meet this guy?”
“At a bar one night not long after the wedding...” Carla had suggested they go to help Emmy stop obsessing over the ego bruise Declan had given her. “Bryce was tall, good-looking, smooth, suave, easygoing. And very attentive—he made me feel like I was the only woman in the whole place.” Which had probably been the first thing that wasn’t the way it had seemed.
“And the two of you were steady? Exclusive?”
“By the end of that first night h
e’d asked for my number and I’d given it to him. I didn’t know if I’d hear from him or not, but he called five minutes after Carla and I left the bar to ask me out for the next night. And he kept calling. After about a month it was very steady and he said he wanted us to be exclusive, yes.”
“He was hot for you,” Declan said with an edge to his voice this time.
Emmy shrugged. “That was the impression he gave. For over three years...”
“Were you hot for him, too?”
She thought about that. She’d grown to care for Bryce. To hope for—then count on and look forward to—a life with him. At the very start, though? No, she couldn’t say she’d been especially hot for him. But the fact that he was hot for her had been exactly what she’d needed to prove she still had it after Declan had cast her aside for the party girl next door.
But she wasn’t going to let Declan know that his actions had played such a big role in the start-up of her relationship with her ex, so she said, “We had things in common, shared interests, opinions, likes and dislikes—”
“That’s not being hot for someone.”
“Still, we clicked,” she contended. “And it was nice...” Very nice to be wanted. And although before that she’d been a cautious dater, never jumping into anything with anyone too quickly, she’d thrown herself into the relationship with Bryce.
Unfortunately she’d been so enthusiastic that she’d also been oblivious to the warning signs.
“So he swept you off your feet.”
“He did,” she agreed. “With Bryce it was roses once a week, every week we were together—oh yeah, and a huge bouquet the day after he dumped me. The consolation prize, I guess. It was front-row seats to concerts and plays and sport events. It was wining and dining, being whisked around in expensive cars or limousines. It was—”
“Dating that took you about as far from disasters and devastations and school bombings as photographing weddings takes you from what you used to photograph.”
That gave Emmy pause. She hadn’t made that connection before.
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