The Playboy's Baby(46)

The feeling had been mutual. She liked the old couple who bought the house. She sold it to them for exactly that reason, because she knew they’d take care of it, that they’d love it the way her mother had. Looking at the place now, she knew she did the right thing. It looked better than when she left.

“Come on.” Dillon took her hand, walking slightly ahead while he led her up the front walk. He unlocked the door, and then stepped inside, pulling her in with him.

Emma paused in the foyer, Dillon stepping up beside her. The inside looked much the same. The walls were painted a simple, clean white, the way it had always been. The wooden floors looked new, gleaming under the soft light drifting in through the windows, instead of the scuffed, dull wood she remembered. Some of the crumbling moldings had been replaced, along with the old drafty windows.

“They moved out already?”

“It’s been on the market for over six months. The owners moved out in June and left the keys with the realtor. Said they moved down to California. Daughter had a baby and they wanted to be closer to family.” Dillon glanced over at her and smiled. “Realtor wasn’t going to give me the keys, but I convinced her to call the owners. The old man’s a nice guy. I told him I was doing a favor for someone special.”

Touched by the gesture, tears sprang in Emma’s eyes. No man ever had gone through so much trouble for her. “Why would you do that for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I do that for you?” He smiled again, warmth and tenderness filling his eyes. Then he tugged her hand and jerked his head in the direction of the interior of the house. “Let’s go see.”

Unable to express her gratitude, Emma squeezed his fingers before moving forward in awe. They went from room to room. Dillon followed quietly beside her. Memories past slid to mind with each room. She was most surprised with the kitchen. The same old, faded yellow wallpaper still hung on the walls. Her mother’s favorite room had been the kitchen. If she closed her eyes and listened really hard, she swore she could still hear her mother’s quiet, breathy laughter echoing around her and the sound of bacon frying in a pan when Mama made breakfast every morning.

Ten minutes later, they stood in one of the bedrooms upstairs, the one at the end of the hallway. Gone were the frilly curtains Mama insisted on and the posters that covered every available inch of wall space. Janey’s room. She could still see her sister sitting on the bed with her girly pink quilt and remembered when Janey locked herself in the closet because the old latch slid shut on her.

“I liked it better when she lived here.” The old familiar pain sliced through her chest. Now the room looked too empty. Devoid of life.

Dillon’s warmth pressed against her back. His hands came to rest on her shoulders in a show of gentle support she was grateful for. “I used to climb in through that window all the time.”

She smiled, eyeing the window in question, the memory sliding to mind, of one too many nights waking to the sounds of giggling and shushing coming from this room. “I know. You two were never very quiet about it.”

His chest rumbled against her back with his quiet laugh. “She used to tell me she snuck out through that window too.”

She pursed her lips at the memory. “Used to scare the life out of me to find her gone. Where on earth did the two of you go?”

“Usually down to the docks.”

By the riverfront. Janey loved being down by the water. Before their mother got sick, they used to camp there every weekend.

Dillon gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “This house is yours, Em.”

Her momentary good mood fell. She wished. “Was.” Her heart hung heavy.

His head came down beside her ear, his warm breath fanning her cheek. “The new owner? Is me.” He straightened and his body pressed against her back again. “I discovered it in the paper a week ago. I made the old guy an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

She stood frozen, her heart pounding in her throat. Dillon’s surprise suddenly took on a whole new level. “Why would you buy this house?”

“Because it’s yours. You love this house.”

Had she heard him correctly? Not daring to believe her ears, she turned to face him, stared at him and shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

Those dark eyes burned into hers. “I didn’t buy this house for me.”

When his meaning sank in, a shocked sort of numbness stole over her, and she turned a slow circle, taking in the space around her. “You bought this house.”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

The tenderness in his voice got to her. Tears sprang, unbidden, to her eyes. She faced him again and searched his gaze, her voice wobbling when she spoke. “Why would you do that?”