She looked past him to the crowd and was mortified to see Liz, Cait and their husbands watching. Liz’s mouth had dropped open and Cait’s soft eyes were dark with concern. Joe and Paul simply had goofy smiles on their faces. Emily looked past them, afraid that Sam had seen the sparks going off behind him rather than above, but he and the girls were still chattering excitedly about which bursts had been their favorites and the horrendous noise.
She scrambled to her feet and straightened her blouse. Luke took his time, getting to his feet and gathering the corner of the blanket to fold it. Emily grabbed the other side to help. She had to keep her hands busy. Avoid the assessing looks from Luke’s family. Why had she let herself be carried away?
But she’d created another problem. Holding her side of the blanket meant folding it into the middle, which meant meeting Luke face-to-face. There was the silent question as which of them would take the woolen fabric to fold again. Emily dropped it, letting Luke fold it into a square.
Cait and Joe took the stroller and said goodbye, but Liz—bless her—acted as if nothing had happened and stopped to ask if Sam was going to day camp in the morning. Emily, Luke and Sam followed along back to the parking lot. Sam’s feet started to drag, so Luke lifted him effortlessly on his shoulders and carried him to the truck.
Sam fell asleep on the drive home.
Emily couldn’t bring herself to say anything to Luke. She didn’t want to ask why. She didn’t want to analyze it. She was terrified to ask what it meant or if it would happen again. The radio played a quiet country-and-Western tune and she stared out the window at the inky sky and the long, flat fields shadowed by the moon. When they reached the house, Emily was first to hop out and she took Sam in her arms.
“I need to get him into bed,” she whispered, unable to meet Luke’s gaze. He didn’t protest or stop her. They both knew she was running away from what had happened. Her arms ached under Sam’s weight—when had he grown so much?—and she was out of breath by the time she got to the top of the stairs. When she finally had him tucked between the sheets, she paused. The light was on in the kitchen. Luke was waiting for her, she knew it. She hesitated, her hand on the smooth banister. If she went down, they’d have to talk, and she was afraid to talk. She was afraid of spoiling the balance they’d achieved so effortlessly during the past week. She was afraid they’d stop talking, that he’d kiss her again. And she was afraid it would go further. Much further. She imagined him carrying her to his room, imagined feeling his skin against hers….
No, it was too much. So much more than she was prepared to give. To accept.
So she went into her own room and shut the door, biting her lip as she changed into her nightgown and slid between the soft cotton sheets.
Several minutes later she heard him turn off the light as he stopped waiting. His slow steps echoed on the stairs, creaking on the tread third from the top. The steps paused beside her door as her heart pounded with fear and, Lord help her, anticipation.
Then the steps went away and she heard him go into his room. Muffled sounds as he shed his clothing—she swallowed—and the sound of the mattress settling as he got in bed, his head only inches from hers, and yet so far away.
She lay awake for a long time, replaying the kiss, listening for his footsteps, and wondering what it was she wanted—if she even knew anymore.
The morning sun was high when Luke stopped to survey the herd below. Caribou’s chestnut hide gleamed in the summer sun and the gelding tossed his head, anxious to get going again. Luke had taken the morning to check fence lines of the north pasture now that he and the hands had moved the herd east to graze on fresh grass. He could have done it on the quad, but he was a horse man at heart. Spending a morning in the saddle had sounded perfect at 7:00 a.m. when the dew was still heavy on the grass.
It had given him ample time to think.
Caribou shifted restlessly and Luke let him go, moving into a trot to the dirt lane that ran between sections. What the h
orse needed was a good run, a chance to burn off some energy. Luke could use it, too. He was wound tighter than a spring, and it was all due to Emily. Emily with her shiny mink hair and big eyes. Emily with her soft smiles and even softer skin. His fingers tightened on the reins. He’d been a damned fool last night, kissing her at the fireworks. It was bad enough it was in public, but with his family there? It was as good as putting a stamp on her as far as they were concerned.
And that wasn’t his intention. Not at all. His sisters would pester him to death wondering what was going on. If Emily was “the one”. It didn’t matter that he’d made it clear there would never be a Mrs. Luke Evans. It was just better that way. He never wanted to saddle a wife with an invalid.
A yellow-headed blackbird bobbed in the bushes as he passed. What had been his intention, then? Why hadn’t he just left Emily alone and kept his lips to himself? He’d asked himself that question all morning and had yet to come up with an answer. What did he want from Emily? Things had not changed. It would be pointless to start anything up knowing it could go nowhere.
He was right back to where he’d started—a fool. A fool to get so wrapped up in her that he’d given in to his wants and kissed her without thinking of the repercussions. Now she wasn’t even talking to him. She’d scooted up to bed last night and had avoided him this morning with the excuse of getting Sam ready for day camp. All-business Emily. She’d made her feelings perfectly clear. It was better this way, but it made him snarly just the same.
The gate was up ahead. He slowed Caribou to a walk and squinted. Emily was coming through the gap, all long, tanned legs in beige shorts and a red T-shirt. His body gave a little kick seeing her waiting for him. Her hair glinted with surprising red tints but he couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses. He didn’t need to. He could see by the tense set of her shoulders and the line of her lips that something was wrong.
He gave the horse a nudge and cantered to the gate where she was waiting, pulling up in a cloud of dust. It had to be important if she’d come all the way out here to find him.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
She looked up at him and took off her glasses.
His stomach did a slow turn. The chocolate depths of her eyes were more worried than he’d seen them. “Is it Sam?”
His question seemed to break through and she shook her head. “No, no it’s not Sam. He’s still at day camp with the twins.” She peered up at him, hesitated, then said gently, “It’s your father, Luke.”
His father. All his energy seemed to sink to his feet, making them heavy but the rest of him oddly numb. “Is he gone?” His voice sounded flat and he had the strange thought that for just a few moments the birds had stopped singing in the underbrush.
“No. But Liz called and they want you to come.”
Relief struck, automatically followed by dread. He had known something like this was coming and had buried himself in work to avoid thinking about it. Dad was getting frailer by the day, and it had been nearly ten years since he had gone into the home—a long time for someone with his disease. Luke knew the facts. But it didn’t make it any easier.
“Okay.”
“Luke?”