Bunny and the Beast(Divine Creek Ranch 22)(88)

“Hey, hey,” Joseph’s voice rumbled from the kitchen. “Turn it back down, Tristan. Your sister is still sleeping.”

“Sorry.”

She breathed in deeply, sitting on the edge of the bed, and the tension drained right back out of her. He’d stayed.

The last four days were a blur to her, but the one constant had been Joseph. He’d helped her deal with the insurance company, the funeral home, the cemetery. Everything. He’d been by her side, even to the point of picking her and Tristan up that morning for the funeral.

Guilt swept through her as she realized it was a club night and Joseph was watching a zombie movie with her brother. And he was in the kitchen. Judging by the sounds, he was fixing supper.

Stealing another glance at the clock, she grabbed a fresh change of clothing from the laundry basket full of clean and folded clothes Louisa had thoughtfully placed by her closet. The mingled scents of food made her mouth water as she slipped down the hallway to the bathroom and took a quick shower. When she came out, her stomach was growling, and she felt a little less like a zombie, although the dull ache that had persisted in her chest for the last several days was still there and probably would for many more.

“Hey,” she murmured through a throat made raspy from crying as she padded on bare feet into the kitchen. Joseph was preparing three dinner plates from the casserole dishes on the stove. It looked as though more food had arrived while she’d been asleep, and there was a vase of wildflowers on the kitchen counter. “Smells good in here.”

“Hey there.” The gentle timbre of his voice made her throat clog with new tears. “Come here,” he said softly, holding his arms open. “I hope we didn’t wake you with the noise.”

The circle of his arms was comforting. She breathed in the mix of his scents, the light fresh scent of his aftershave mingled with soap. She pressed her nose against his breastbone and caught the scent that was uniquely his through his dress shirt and undershirt. She breathed deeply and held on tight, closing her eyes. His presence helped more than the nap did.

The old Bunny would’ve laughed at that, finding comfort in a man, having been let down by the man most central in her life. She’d accepted letdown after letdown from her father, and then from other men she’d dated. She’d built a wall up, figuring protecting herself from disappointment and heartache was better than risking vulnerability. With Joseph, none of that was necessary.

“I thought you might be hungry soon,” he murmured, squeezing her a little more tightly, as if he knew exactly what she needed. “Your kitchen is comfort food central right now, fiammetta.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” she murmured as tears escaped from her clenched eyelids. “Grinnie’s kitchen was like that. She always hummed when she cooked, and I could tell how happy she was by the rise and fall and cadence of her tune. I wish we’d had a little more time with her.”

The sense of loss and ache in her heart swelled, and Joseph murmured to her as she got his shirtfront all wet with her tears…again.

“Did…anybody call while I was asleep?”

“Mr. Grogan called to see if either of you needed anything.”

She smiled, and more tears leaked against his shirt, reminded that not all men ghosted when things got uncomfortable. “That was sweet.”

“I told him I’d be here, watching out for you both. That was it.”

“My dad…” she queried, not for herself but for Tristan. She sniffled, trying to hold back tears.

“No, sweetheart.”

She accepted the handkerchief he gave her and blew her nose. “That’s okay.” And for the first time, the accompanying thought wasn’t that she didn’t need him, that she was strong enough on her own. No, this time it was okay because she no longer felt like a motherless child, convincing herself she could handle this heartache. She wasn’t alone anymore.

“A couple of neighbors brought supper over, though, and one little girl brought you the bouquet. She said she lived down the street—”

Feeling brave, she looked up at him with a red face, watery, irritated eyes, and a lump in her throat. “I love you, too. And not because you helped me through this week, or because you watched over Tristan when I know you should be at your club, or because I want you to take care of me, or because I love it when you boss me around, or because you let me get away with so much sassing, or because I have daddy issues, or because we’re on our own again, or—”

He cut her off with a brutal kiss, bending her back over his arm, gripping her hair, sliding his velvety tongue against hers, groaning softly as she gave over, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.