But when she thought about it she had to concede. “You’re kind of right,” she said in a voice that was barely audible and echoed with a bit of surprise. “Still, it wasn’t as if the splashy stuff was all there was between us or the reason I was with him. We could talk for hours right to the end of the relationship. He made me laugh. He said he never felt as good as he did when he was with me—those were actually some of his parting words. So it wasn’t as if there wasn’t more to the relationship than the perks. But we never fought and yes, dating Bryce couldn’t have been more pink and pretty—no chaos or conflict at all...” she admitted, suddenly seeing it through different eyes.
She’d blamed Declan’s night-of-the-Brazilian-bombshell for her getting into the relationship with Bryce—a rebound of sorts.
She’d compared misreading Declan’s intentions toward her at the reception with her much worse belief that she and Bryce were going to have a future together.
And she still felt those beliefs were valid.
But she’d completely missed the fact that dating Bryce had been so picture-perfect that it had helped distance her from things she’d experienced, from the repercussions she’d been dealing with after the bombing. Almost exactly like looking through her viewfinder at brides and bouquets and five-tiered cakes helped keep her miles away from images of flooded cities and buildings reduced to piles of bricks and people battered by war. She’d completely missed that being with Bryce had been another escape...
“How was he with the post-Afghanistan stuff you’ve been dealing with?” Declan asked then.
It almost embarrassed Emmy to say, “He didn’t know about it.”
Declan took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at her again. “He didn’t know about what? The issues you’ve had or—”
“For a while he didn’t even know what happened. I told him about being a freelance photographer and then switching to the Red Cross after that. I said that after the last trip with the Red Cross I’d decided I wanted to stay in Denver to work, so I’d opened up shop to do wedding and special-event photography.”
Declan’s eyebrows were arched in what looked to be more surprise. “Is that how you put it? You didn’t tell him any more than that?”
“That was exactly how I put it.”
“You didn’t tell him you’d been in a bombing?”
“No. But of course my family knew and eventually Bryce found out through them. That was it, though—I told you, I only told my friend, Carla, about my issues and she’s kept my confidence, so no, Bryce never knew that part.”
“You didn’t tell the guy you were involved with—for years—that you were going through some bad stuff?”
“No.”
“And he didn’t figure it out?” Declan asked as if he found that hard to believe.
“If I was having a bad day I made something up and canceled whatever plans I had with him. And usually called Carla.”
But now Emmy found herself questioning her big omission from a relationship she’d thought had a future. Still, in fairness to Bryce, she added, “Anyway, I was better by the time I met him—that was after the wedding. I did tell him I was a little claustrophobic—he knew that much—but he didn’t know that it stemmed from Afghanistan. Otherwise...Bryce was all about the future not the past, which was fine by me. I wanted to put the past behind me.” And she’d thought being with him helped accomplish that. But now? Now that Declan had given her this new view she said, “I guess it might have been less about sparing him and more about using being with him as a way of separating myself from it.”
“If I was that guy I’d hate that you were in the thick of something serious and kept me in the dark about it.”
“He kept me in the dark about the pedigree thing,” she said defensively.
“So how close of a relationship was this really?” Declan asked kindly.
“Yeah, okay, I can’t argue with that because even though I thought we had a future together, I was obviously totally wrong. I left out the ugly details of what I was working through. Meanwhile, he was misleading me, because even though there were signs I should have read, there was also him telling me he loved me and that he never wanted to be without me and—” Her voice cracked. She didn’t want to reveal more about how she felt she’d been deceived.
Declan seemed to know that because he didn’t push her for more of those examples and instead said, “What kind of signs did you miss?”
“That he didn’t ever ask me to the fancy galas and balls and charity things that he was probably at with the Camdens,” she said.
“That does seem strange when otherwise you had all kinds of spectacular dates with him.”
“He said he was doing me a favor, that the charity events were snooty and boring and tedious. He said he had an obligation to put in an appearance but I didn’t. That if he went alone he could drop in, make sure the people who needed to see him saw him and duck out—which was what he always did because he’d show up at my place afterward in his tux, get comfortable and we’d still have time together.”
“But now you think he was deliberately keeping you separate from that side of his life.”
“Yes. I was only introduced to friends of his who weren’t rich and didn’t run in those circles. And even though I met his family, it was just a few times and I wasn’t ever with them at the country club or at any of those society things. It all should have told me that I wasn’t going to make the cut when it came to him picking a wife. But I missed it...”
“Yeah...” Declan agreed but he didn’t sound totally convinced. “I could see how you might miss it, though. It seems like he was riding the fence—you and his not-rich friends on one side, his family and social obligations on the other. It doesn’t sound like you should kick yourself for not knowing which side he would come down on when push came to shove—especially when he made it look like the other side wasn’t what he was devoted to.”
“But obviously he wasn’t devoted to me either and I let myself believe he was,” she insisted. “If he was actually going to share his life with me, he would have included me in the whole thing. But I didn’t see that his keeping me away from it all was a message that I didn’t fit in.”
Declan turned onto the road that led to the house. “So you didn’t look for ulterior motives. You weren’t suspicious. You trusted him. Those aren’t bad things, Emmy,” he pointed out.
“I was gullible,” she claimed firmly. “I wanted so badly to believe that I’d found Prince Charming that I only saw what I wanted to see.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
She didn’t agree with that. After all, she’d made the same mistake with him—choosing to believe that he wanted her when there must have been signs she’d missed telling her that it wasn’t true. It had left her feeling like a fool. With Bryce, she had wasted more than three years of her life because she hadn’t realized they’d never had the same dream for the future.
Declan pulled up in front of the farmhouse just then and she let that be the natural end to their conversation as they both got out of the truck and went inside.
The babysitter gave them the report on the kids, who were both asleep, and then Emmy and Declan walked her to the front door.
After she’d left, Declan closed the door, leaned a shoulder against it and smiled a thoughtful smile at Emmy before he said bluntly and conclusively, “The guy came down on the wrong side of the fence.”
Emmy merely shrugged. That sentiment from someone who also hadn’t chosen her gave his words less impact.
But there wasn’t any more to say on the subject, so she let her shrug speak for her.
It was late by then and evening’s end was in the air. But Declan didn’t move from that stance against the door. And he was studying her intently enough that it was clear he wasn’t ready to say good-night.
Then he proved it by saying, “I had a long talk with Kit last night—man to man.”
Emmy wasn’t really ready to end her time with him either so she played along. “How did that go?”
“He listened up,” Declan claimed. “I told him that tonight, when he needed to be walked around, you’d be coming in from the big date I was taking you on—an evening on the town—so he should go a little easy on you.”
“Did he agree?”
“Well...” Declan raised his eyebrows dubiously. “You know how he can be—a little cantankerous. But I kept at him and eventually he said he’d try not to be too difficult tonight.”
“I really hope he keeps his word. I mean, a night on the town in Northbridge? Who wouldn’t need rest after that?”
“Yep, yep, yep...” Declan agreed. Then his expression, his tone, turned less joking, more genuine. “I did have a good time tonight, though...”
“Sure, you were the man of the hour,” Emmy said with a laugh.
“Nah, that didn’t have anything to do with it. It was the company,” he added pointedly, his stunning blue eyes on her. “I figured I’d eventually have to go into town, face everybody. But...” He shook his head for effect. “You don’t have any idea how much I hated the thought of seeing those people again, and going into it with you beside me? It helped. But even if the meeting had been a disaster, I think it still would have ended up being a good night just because of you...walking, talking, a little ice cream...” He smiled sweetly but devilishly, too. “That’s the part I enjoyed and I don’t think it would have made any difference if I’d had rocks thrown at me.”
Emmy tried not to like hearing that, tried to take it with a grain of salt, but it was still nice to hear, and it still did please her.
Even so, she worked to hold on to her reserve. “I’m just glad there weren’t any rocks thrown—that it turned out the way it did. I would have hated to have to go in there and kick some Northbridge butt for being mean to you,” she joked.
Declan laughed wholeheartedly, genuinely, spontaneously—the way he had earlier, the way she hadn’t heard since the wedding—and the sound of it gave her goose bumps of pleasure, which she couldn’t explain.
“I was counting on you, though,” he said, almost sounding as if it was true and he’d relied on her because he couldn’t take care of himself.
Which he so obviously could, standing there towering above her with those enormous shoulders and the muscles that tested the limits of his white polo shirt.
“Anyway,” he said in a voice that was suddenly quiet, “thanks for tonight.”
Emmy merely laughed a little and shook her head as if he was being silly to think there was anything to thank her for.
And then when she least expected it, his hand snaked up to the back of her head and he partially pulled her to him, partially leaned forward himself and caught her mouth with his.
Their first kiss—at least the first on the mouth rather than on the nape of her neck.
But it wasn’t anything like any other first kiss she’d ever had. There was nothing shy or tentative or hesitant in it. It was a solid kiss from the start as his lips parted and he kissed her like there was no tomorrow—deeply and as passionately as if the kiss had been pent up in him for a long, long time and had finally broken free.
He came away from the door to wrap his other arm around her, to pull her up against that expansive chest, to press a big hand to her back as his mouth urged hers to open. As his tongue found its way to hers.
It was a lot for a first kiss. And yet there was nothing in Emmy that balked. Instead it was as if that kiss unearthed something in her, something she’d buried long ago but hadn’t quite managed to smother, and the only thing she did was raise her hands to that glorious chest and greet his tongue with her own.
On and on it went, that kiss from heaven—or hell—because at the same time it delighted and aroused, it also robbed her of the ability to consider consequences, or even think about anything else. Anything but Declan and how incredible his kiss was, how incredible it felt to be in his arms, how nothing else mattered in that moment but this kiss and this man and being in his arms...
Oh, he was good at it...
It was everything every kiss should be. Everything and more...
Until he seemed to get a grip on himself just about when Emmy got enough of a grip on herself to realize they should stop.
But even as tongues retreated and lips parted, met again more chastely, then parted for good, he didn’t let her go. His arm stayed around her, his hand still braced her head while he dropped his forehead to the top of it and said in a craggy voice, “Spiked ice cream?” It was half joke, half offer—a chance to give them something else to blame that kiss on.
“Must have been,” Emmy agreed softly.
“Should have brought home a gallon,” he muttered under his breath before he raised his head from hers, straightened up and slowly let go of her.
Emmy forced her own hands away from him, too. “I better go get into floor-walking clothes before Kit calls,” she said, needing to put some distance between herself and Declan. It was all she could do to fight the impulse to reach for him and restart that kiss.
Declan merely nodded, his eyes continuing to devour her as if he wanted every detail of her face engraved on his memory.
Then he said, “The orchard tomorrow,” and that cooled her off some. “Are you gonna give it a try?”
She didn’t know why but the thought of facing it with him made it easier. It even made her willing to attempt what had seemed impossible just days ago. “I am,” she said with some bravado.
He nodded again, making her feel warm inside because it was laden with approval. “Okay then,” he said.
But he still didn’t take his eyes off her and she had the sense that he wanted to kiss her again.
As much as she wanted him to.
But in the end, he didn’t.
He stood a little taller, a little stiffer, and said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Emmy took a turn at nodding and watched him go—filling her own memory with the sight of the backside that was as good as the front, and then appreciating one last view of his oh-so-handsome, oh-so-sexy face when he looked back over his shoulder at her before he disappeared around the corner.
Which was when Emmy reminded herself that she needed to go upstairs and change clothes, get ready for the long hours of trying to comfort a crying baby.
And when she also reminded herself that she was not supposed to be kissing Declan Madison.
Despite the fact that everything in her was screaming for her to do it again.
Chapter Seven
“Okay, we’ll take it a step at a time.”
It was a promise made in Declan’s deep, confident voice as Emmy stood with him on the outskirts of the apple orchard Thursday morning.
“If you feel yourself start to take shallow breaths, take a couple of deep ones before you get all the way to hyperventilating.”
Just thinking about going into that orchard had put her on the verge of hyperventilating already, and Emmy wasn’t sure if he’d noticed or was only giving what he thought was preemptive advice. Either way, she immediately took a deep breath.
It helped. And so did knowing that she wasn’t in this alone.
“I’m gonna start work on that nearest tree—” He pointed to it. “I want you to come as close as you can without triggering anything and pay attention to what happens—see that even when I cut a broken branch, I have time to get out of the way before it hits the ground. That I have some control...” He paused. “Try to ride out the anxiety when it hits...”
Again he seemed to realize that merely talking about what she was afraid of was causing her some issues.
“Look up at the sky, look around—see that there’s plenty of clear space, plenty of
space to move to. Feel the open air all around you...”
This time his tone was intentionally calming, comforting.
He gave her a minute to deal with what was going through her. Then he said, “If and when you feel like you can, move closer. But know all along that anytime you need to step back for a minute—or call this quits altogether—you can. You’re only taking baby steps here. Don’t do anything at a pace that upsets you. If you start to feel overwhelmed, let me know and we’ll deal with it.”
Emmy nodded. “Okay...”
“It will be okay,” he countered more strongly than she’d been able to. Then he said, “Deep breaths,” as he went to the first tree in the orchard.
This still wasn’t easy for Emmy. What she really wanted to do was run the other way. But she knew that avoidance only postponed the fear until the next time, it didn’t cancel it out. And she honestly did want all the fears she’d taken with her from Afghanistan to end.
Now or never, she told herself, knowing that she was lucky to have Declan to walk her through this.
As he worked, he explained what he was doing, what he was seeing and hearing, how he could test for dangers and maintain his safety if he saw any. It wasn’t unlike what he’d done in Afghanistan as he’d worked to get to her, and at first she worried that that similarity might be enough to give her flashbacks.
But in Afghanistan there had been an underlying urgency even in his assurances that he was going to get her out. They’d both known she was in real danger. Now there was none of that awareness of a genuine threat. His tone was casual; he even made jokes.
It also helped that it wasn’t only his voice coming to her, she had a visual to focus on as well, and that visual added some distraction. How could it not when, dressed in jeans and a chambray shirt, he was all muscles and masculinity at work?
Plus, even though she would never let Declan know it, he provided an additional element to her drive to overcome her fear.
Yes, she hated what had been happening to her since the bombing and she wanted it to go away. And she certainly didn’t want to have the potential for relapses like the panic attack in the attic or the anxiety she’d been suffering over the mere thought of the orchard.
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