work.”
“There’s more to life than work.”
“Dad.” She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes. “It’s a little late for the fatherisms, okay? If you’re better, I just want to know.”
He was quiet, and after looking at him, waiting, she turned away and nearly ran right smack into Stone, who’d climbed down the rock and come up onto the porch without a sound. The kids were in the yard, kicking a ball around. Stone’s usual smile was nowhere in place. “He’s not ready to go back to work, Emma. He’s—”
But her father put his hand on Stone’s arm, and whatever else he’d planned to say never left his lips.
Men. Stoic and silent and stupid . “I have three casseroles in the damn truck,” she said, giving up. “I brought them to you so you’d have food.” She stalked back to the vehicle; stacking the dishes up together when the skin at the nape of her neck did that prickle thing, a phenomenon which had never happened to her before Stone.
Not something she wanted to think about.
But damn him.
She whirled around and yep, there he was. Funny how fast the guy could move when he wanted to, like a cat, she thought, looking up, up, up into his eyes, which for the first time wereclosed off to her. A big, tough, wild leopard . Or a tiger. Something surprisingly silent and edgy and dangerous in worn jeans, his t-shirt molding to his broad shoulders and chest and abs. His wayward surfer hair was spiky today, as if he’d used his fingers instead of a comb. His face—“Hey.” She ran her finger over his temple. “Your stitches.”
“I took them out.”
Yeah, he was most definitely dangerous, at least to her mental health. “You what?”
“Admit it, I did a good job.”
The cut had healed, perfectly. “You should have let me.”
“To be honest, I was never going to let you.” He paused. “Emma—”
“No.” She didn’t want to hear it. She understood his role as protector, that he was there for her father. But she was pretty damn tired of everyone having someone at their back but her.
Damn tired. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad, since I do.” He turned to make sure no one could overhear. “He came to see you, Emma.”
“What?”
“When you were young. He tried to see you, multiple times in fact. But your mother always caught wind of it and whisked you off on a trip somewhere.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He sent letters and called too. He tried to be a part of your life, but she told him that it wasn’t going to happen. That it couldn’t happen, because she was aiming high with you, higher than him.”
“No.” Emma shook her head. “She wouldn’t say that.” But…but how many times had Sandy said those very words, that Emma was to aim high, far higher than her own roots. Oh, God . “I don’t believe it.”
“I know it must be hard, after being raised by her, to hear the other side.”
No. No, it wasn’t hard. She knew more than anyone that there were two sides to every story. But this, this couldn’t be right.
Yet the look on his face, the utter empathy, the utter certainty…“Why?” she whispered. “Why did he let her tell him that he couldn’t see me?”
“Because he owed her. He felt responsible for her losing those years of her life when she stayed out here, the years she blamed him for.”
Sandy had resented those years, bitterly. Just as she’d bitterly resented every single wrinkle on her face, the ones she’d blamed on the high, harsh, Sierra sun. “He came to New York to see me.”
His eyes softened, revealing his honesty. “Yes.”
“And she turned him away.”
“Yes.”
Emma stared blindly at the granite rock, the rough, rugged pines. “She didn’t want to share me.”
“I imagine not, though it hurt him. And because he had time and love to give, he turned to other kids. Me, for one. And others.” She heard him take a step toward her, his feet crunching on the fallen pine needles. “He’s a good guy,
“There’s more to life than work.”
“Dad.” She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes. “It’s a little late for the fatherisms, okay? If you’re better, I just want to know.”
He was quiet, and after looking at him, waiting, she turned away and nearly ran right smack into Stone, who’d climbed down the rock and come up onto the porch without a sound. The kids were in the yard, kicking a ball around. Stone’s usual smile was nowhere in place. “He’s not ready to go back to work, Emma. He’s—”
But her father put his hand on Stone’s arm, and whatever else he’d planned to say never left his lips.
Men. Stoic and silent and stupid . “I have three casseroles in the damn truck,” she said, giving up. “I brought them to you so you’d have food.” She stalked back to the vehicle; stacking the dishes up together when the skin at the nape of her neck did that prickle thing, a phenomenon which had never happened to her before Stone.
Not something she wanted to think about.
But damn him.
She whirled around and yep, there he was. Funny how fast the guy could move when he wanted to, like a cat, she thought, looking up, up, up into his eyes, which for the first time wereclosed off to her. A big, tough, wild leopard . Or a tiger. Something surprisingly silent and edgy and dangerous in worn jeans, his t-shirt molding to his broad shoulders and chest and abs. His wayward surfer hair was spiky today, as if he’d used his fingers instead of a comb. His face—“Hey.” She ran her finger over his temple. “Your stitches.”
“I took them out.”
Yeah, he was most definitely dangerous, at least to her mental health. “You what?”
“Admit it, I did a good job.”
The cut had healed, perfectly. “You should have let me.”
“To be honest, I was never going to let you.” He paused. “Emma—”
“No.” She didn’t want to hear it. She understood his role as protector, that he was there for her father. But she was pretty damn tired of everyone having someone at their back but her.
Damn tired. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad, since I do.” He turned to make sure no one could overhear. “He came to see you, Emma.”
“What?”
“When you were young. He tried to see you, multiple times in fact. But your mother always caught wind of it and whisked you off on a trip somewhere.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He sent letters and called too. He tried to be a part of your life, but she told him that it wasn’t going to happen. That it couldn’t happen, because she was aiming high with you, higher than him.”
“No.” Emma shook her head. “She wouldn’t say that.” But…but how many times had Sandy said those very words, that Emma was to aim high, far higher than her own roots. Oh, God . “I don’t believe it.”
“I know it must be hard, after being raised by her, to hear the other side.”
No. No, it wasn’t hard. She knew more than anyone that there were two sides to every story. But this, this couldn’t be right.
Yet the look on his face, the utter empathy, the utter certainty…“Why?” she whispered. “Why did he let her tell him that he couldn’t see me?”
“Because he owed her. He felt responsible for her losing those years of her life when she stayed out here, the years she blamed him for.”
Sandy had resented those years, bitterly. Just as she’d bitterly resented every single wrinkle on her face, the ones she’d blamed on the high, harsh, Sierra sun. “He came to New York to see me.”
His eyes softened, revealing his honesty. “Yes.”
“And she turned him away.”
“Yes.”
Emma stared blindly at the granite rock, the rough, rugged pines. “She didn’t want to share me.”
“I imagine not, though it hurt him. And because he had time and love to give, he turned to other kids. Me, for one. And others.” She heard him take a step toward her, his feet crunching on the fallen pine needles. “He’s a good guy,
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