The Playboy's Baby(23)

“Do you think she knows?” Dillon’s question came low and quiet, his voice etched with pain.

Emma nodded. “I think she was aware on some level that something changed. She didn’t sleep well for the first couple weeks and was real fussy there for a while.”

She paused and made herself look over at him. Dillon gazed at Annie, his face awash in pain. One of her small hands curled around his index finger, which she attempted to shove into her mouth.

“I really am sorry I didn’t contact you for the funeral.” The guilt had been eating up her stomach since she realized what she’d done two weeks ago. “You’re the only other person who loved her the way I did, and I robbed you of your chance to say goodbye.”

He glanced at her. “It must have been hard for you.”

The soft sympathy in his eyes threatened to unravel the shroud she held around herself, the one that kept her from dissolving into a river of endless tears. Her strength of will, the need to keep moving, keep pushing forward, kept her sane. If Dillon didn’t stop looking at her like that, she might give in to the emotion and let it sweep her away. Then where would she be?

She turned back to the display, looking over the teethers. Despite her previous thoughts, the words came anyway. Dillon’s body pressed lightly into her back, and the words came on a torrent of pent-up need. A need to share the pain with someone she knew would understand. To selfishly take the comfort his eyes promised.

“To be honest, Dillon, I got lost for a while. Janey was all I had, and I only had enough energy for Annie.” She drew in a shuddering breath, the pain squeezing at her chest. “I just remember standing there staring at her casket, thinking she wasn’t supposed to be there. It all felt very surreal. I kept hoping I’d wake up and she’d be fine.

“I didn’t even announce her death in the paper. I didn’t want the whole town showing up this time. I love them dearly. I love that they showed up for Mom, but it was too much. I didn’t have it in me to deal with that this time. I wanted a private service, family only.”

There were only two cemeteries for the entire county, both of which sat ten miles outside of town. It wasn’t in the center of town, where everybody would pass it, and she’d counted on that fact. The cemetery itself contained miles of land, and the service took place darn near dead center. The funeral director had agreed to keep the funeral private. She was forever grateful to that kind little man for his help.

Dillon’s hands slid onto her shoulders, a gentle comforting weight. “I’m sorry as hell you had to go through that by yourself.”

Tears pricked at the backs of her eyelids. “Three days later, I was in her room when I found that note. That’s when I realized I’d forgotten all about you. I came down as soon as I could get time off. I thought for sure you’d angry with me.”

Dillon’s head came down beside her ear, his voice a soothing murmur. “I’m not mad. You’re here now. That’s what counts. Okay?”

She nodded, more grateful than she had words.

He straightened, his body once again warm against her back. His fingers gently squeezed her shoulders. “You’re not alone, you know.”

Her chest ached with the sweetness of the gesture. There was that soft, gentle side of him again. More than anything, she longed to turn and bury her face in his big chest, to lose herself in his smell and the warmth of his body. Then maybe she could forget the pain and loneliness her life had become. Every time he held her, she felt safe and protected.

She reached back and settled her right hand over his, squeezing his fingers. “Thank you.” Her voice trembled with the emotion she barely held in check.

The man confused the life out of her. He’d grown so different over the years. She expected cocky and careless, but had so far gotten gentle and kind. She had to fight not to lose herself in it, in him.

She couldn’t. One night or twenty, the man had been Janey’s lover. That made him off limits. She didn’t go after her sister’s boyfriends. If she did, that would make her…

She shook off the name that flitted through her mind, spoken at the time like a cruel taunt from a boy who blamed her for his awful intentions.

Dillon was off limits, period. She had no desire to get involved with someone who’d never give her his heart. Someday she was going to find the courage to move beyond the past and into a real relationship, and she wanted someone who could give her every part of himself. Dillon couldn’t. He’d said so himself.

Even knowing all of that, she still couldn’t bring herself to move away. They stood together for long moments in an oddly comfortable silence, in the middle of the department store aisle. Dillon didn’t move, and Emma couldn’t bring herself to break whatever spell held them captive. The solid strength of him felt too warm and reassuring. Maybe it was wrong, but she only wanted a teensy bit of the comfort he offered.