“Where’s she buried?”
“Beside Mom, in Whiteside Cemetery. It’s where she wanted to be.”
“It’s where she should be. She’s home now.” He released her shoulders and stepped up beside her, shooting her a soft smile. “Come on. Let’s get this stuff back to the house. I need to get to the club soon.”
* * *
“You’ll be okay here by yourself tonight?”
Back at the house a half hour later, Dillon stared at Emma. They stood at the end of the hallway, outside the kitchen. Annie on one hip, Emma watched him, softness in her eyes. Her tears earlier had wrenched a knot in his gut and somehow, leaving her felt wrong. Emma carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, and he’d give anything to take some of it from her.
She laid a hand against his chest, her fingers warming his skin through his T-shirt. “I’m a big girl. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now.”
“Well, my cell number’s on the fridge. Call if you need me.” He turned and headed for the front door. “We’ll set up the crib tomorrow. I should have a screwdriver around here somewhere.”
“I take it you don’t use it much.”
With one hand on the doorknob, he turned sideways to look at her. Her eyes twinkled, and his mouth curled into a grin of its own accord. She was gorgeous when she smiled like that, but that she directed it at him lightened his heart. “No. I usually pay people to set stuff up.”
She laughed a light breathless sound that caressed his senses. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“What was it you used to call me? Spoiled rich boy?” He winked and turned to pull the door open, then paused and looked back again. “Oh. I want to take Annie to see my folks tomorrow. I’d like you to go with me.”
She arched a brow. “For protection?”
He grinned. She knew him entirely too well. “Pop won’t clobber me with you there. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She smiled with softness in her eyes that made his heart flip over in his chest. “See you in the morning.”
He shook his head and left the house. He’d probably spend all night looking forward to it.
He had too.
Seated at the kitchen table at three in the morning, Dillon ducked his head into his hands and rubbed his aching temples. It had been a long damn night. Most of it spent trying not to remember the feel of Emma’s body against him in the department store.
The woman tied him in knots. The more time he spent with her, the less he remembered why he couldn’t have her. She tugged at something deep in his gut, a place he’d tried to deny for years. Never getting involved with a woman might prevent him from getting hurt, but it left him yearning for…more. Deep inside burned a need for more than trivial, on-the-surface interactions. He longed for someone to talk to at the end of the day. He set those emotions firmly aside when his relationship with Leila ended, but here they were again, wrapping around him like a familiar, warm blanket.
“Long night?”
At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head. Emma stood at the end of the hallway, in an ankle-length nightgown that reminded him of something his grandmother might wear. Shapeless and covering everything between her neck and feet. On Emma, it had the exact opposite effect. It heated his blood to watch the garment sway around her ankles. He couldn’t stop imagining what he’d find beneath it. Would he find only her? Maybe a pair of simple panties he’d peel off…
He offered a weary smile. “Very. Month’s end inventory and one too many nasty drunks. How come you’re up?”
She smiled and shrugged. “Can’t sleep. Been tossing and turning for hours. Thought I’d try some warm milk.”
“Isn’t that an old wives tale?”
Her mouth curled into a shy grin and she shrugged. “Mom used to give it to me when I was a kid. Always seems to work.” Hands folded together in front of her, she stepped forward, padding across the floor to him. “I can help with your headache if you like.”
He closed his eyes and went back to rubbing his temples. Her touching him would be a very bad idea right then. He didn’t trust himself not to touch her. “I took some Tylenol. It’ll go away in a bit.”
Her quiet footsteps grew closer, and soft hands slid onto his shoulders. Her fingers kneaded his flesh, working from his shoulders up the back of his neck. Her touch didn’t have the effect he suspected. Instead of heating him up, she eased knots and relaxed tight muscles.
He surrendered and let his head loll forward, a low groan slipping from his lips. “You have magic fingers.”