The Hopechest Bride (13 page)

She looked up at him then, drawn by the sadness in his voice. “Are you still hungry?” she asked, wishing away the table that stood between them.

“Not at all,” he told her, pulling several twenties from his pocket and laying them on the empty charger plate in front of him. “Let's get out of here.”

He held her hand tightly as they left the restaurant, a bubble-gum chewing Missy watching, eyes wide, as they swept past her as she carried two salads to their table.

Emily giggled at the sight of the waitress, and was laughing in earnest by the time she and Josh had run across the parking lot to the pickup, his arm around her shoulders as they nearly staggered in their mirth.

She piled into the front seat, breathing hard, and
waited for Josh to pull open the driver's side door, collapse against the seat before fishing in his pocket for his keys. She could see his face clearly in the lights hanging over the parking lot. “Where to?” he asked her, his piercing blue eyes looking straight into hers, straight through her.

“Don't ask me that,” she said, suddenly serious. “Just do it, okay?”

He tossed his Stetson into the rear seat of the large cab of the pickup and turned the key in the ignition, tires squealing as he pulled out of the lot.

Five minutes later, Emily saw the neon sign of a motel, and the smaller, blinking Vacancy sign beneath it.

Ten minutes later, Josh was putting the key into A16.

A heartbeat later, Emily was lifted high in his arms, being carried over to the bed after he kick-slammed the door behind them.

How much better it was when they didn't talk. When there was no reason for words, nothing misunderstood about what they both wanted, what they both needed.

Emily surrendered to Josh's mouth, but only momentarily, before she became aggressive, deepened the kiss herself, until their tongues sought, and found, and dueled. She pushed him away from her, came up to her knees, so that he followed her, mimicked her actions.

Together, they undressed each other. Together,
they ripped at the covers, pushing the bedspread to the floor, tugging down the tightly tucked sheets. Together, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, they fell against the bed.

He traced her skin with his strong, work-roughened hands, his mouth following where his hands had been, and Emily threw back her head, her throat tight, memorizing each sensation, each new high that he brought her to, took her past on the way higher, higher.

No longer a virgin, and damned if she'd just be a passive partner, Emily put her hands on Josh, her fingers spread as her palms made contact with his bare chest. What he did to her, she did to him, and when she felt the muscles over his belly tighten she knew he was feeling what she felt, traveling the same path she traveled.

Her hands went lower as he hovered above her, tantalizingly close, still maddeningly separate from her. She touched him, caressed the smoothness of him, silk over steel, and Josh moaned deep in his throat, pulled her on top of him, brought her close for his kiss.

“I thought this could happen again,” he breathed against her ear, “and I'm prepared for it this time. But not if you keep touching me like that, Emily. I'm not that strong, not when you touch me.”

Emily pushed herself away from him, so that she straddled his hips in the darkness, that darkness, and her desire, erasing the last of her inhibitions. “You mean like this?”

Josh growled, then took hold of her hips and gently pushed her back onto the bed. “You're a heartless woman, Emily Colton,” he told her, reaching for his discarded jeans and the small packet in his front pocket. Moments later, his arms were around her once more, and he half lifted her so that she straddled him yet again in this new and exciting intimacy.

She braced her straightened arms on the bed on either side of his head, lifted herself up slightly, then lowered herself again, felt that still-new yet somehow familiar pressure, felt herself becoming one with Josh, a part of him, as he was a part of her.

Would always be a part of her.

E
mily lay curled against him, one leg casually thrown over his, her fingers drawing small, tantalizing circles on his bare chest. Her head fit perfectly into the hollow below his shoulder, and her hair felt warm and silky against his skin.

Heaven in the Byde-A-Wee Motel.

Josh idly rubbed his hand up and down Emily's bare arm, pretty sure he'd just made another major mistake in his error-ridden life.

He had nothing to offer this woman. Nothing. And yet he'd taken, taken with both hands, and wanted nothing more than to take again…to hold her, love her, let her heal him.

“There's a rodeo near Phoenix next week,” he
said, hardly able to believe his own words. “I'm thinking of leaving my job and heading down there. Rollins knew it was only temporary, so there's no problem there.”

He felt Emily stiffen inside the circle of his arm, and her hand went still, her palm laid flat against his chest. “Oh,” she said, her voice small, hurt.

“Yeah.” Josh shifted himself on the bed, pushing himself upward, so that he half leaned against the headboard, pulling her up beside him. “I haven't ridden the circuit since…well, you know. Time I was back at it. I've got sponsors who pay me some fairly nice bucks for wearing their gear, their logos. I've got contracts. I'm expected to make appearances, at least at the major rodeos.”

“I see. And this is a major rodeo?”

“Semimajor,” Josh told her. “I've been away too long, long enough for my aching muscles to not only heal, but grow soft. I really should get back in the action.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Emily said dully. There was silence in the motel room for long moments, before she added, “When will you leave?”

Josh couldn't seem to do much in the way of forming complex sentences. “Pretty soon, I guess. It's a long drive.”

Emily seemed similarly afflicted. “Yes, I suppose so. A long drive.”

“I could probably stay a few more days,” Josh
heard himself say, mentally kicking himself for holding out hope—to him, or to Emily, he wasn't sure.

“That would be nice,” she answered quietly. “Will you be back? Will…um…have you thought about coming back?”

His arm tightened around her and she lifted her head slightly, peered up into his eyes. “You know I shouldn't, Emily. We both know I shouldn't. Hell, I shouldn't be here now.
You
shouldn't be here now.”

She pushed away from him, sitting up, and shoved her hair away from her eyes. “Why? Why shouldn't we be here, Josh?”

He sat up straighter, doing his best not to look at Emily as she sat there, her upper body exposed to him without shame, probably without notice. God, she was perfect. Everything he'd ever wanted, ever dreamed of, when he had dared to dream.

“You know why, Emily.”

“Our ages? Is that it? I thought you said that wasn't a problem.”

Now he did look at her, straight into her eyes. “You know it's not that. I—I just don't have the right.” He struggled to find the right words. “We met for all the wrong reasons, and I'm a bastard for what I've done, for kissing you, for—”

Emily interrupted him with one word: “Toby.” As if suddenly noticing her own nakedness, she reached down, pulled the sheet up and over her breasts. “That's it, isn't it, Josh? Toby.”

He raked both hands through his hair, pressed his
head back against the headboard. “Damn it, Emily, yes. Of course it's Toby. He loved you.”

“I see,” Emily said, drawing the sheet even closer. “And you don't. Yet you—you
had
me, and Toby never did. Tell me, Josh, was taking me to bed the way you decided to punish me, make me feel even more guilty?”

“No!” Josh sat up, took hold of Emily's upper arms. “God, no, Emily. I wanted you the moment I first saw you, and I kicked myself all the way back to Rollins Ranch that day, because I knew I wanted you. How could I do that? How could I betray Toby that way? Not once, but twice. And damn me, Emily, I'd do it again. That's the worst of it. I'd do it again.”

“Take me home, Josh,” Emily said, moving away from him, dragging the sheet with her, as if mortified by her unclothed state, embarrassed to let him see her—or perhaps feeling unclean wherever his eyes could see her. “Just take me home.”

“Emily, I—” He reached for her, but she slipped away, began picking up her clothing before he could get untangled from the blanket. “Emily, for God's sake—”

“Oh, no,” she said, whirling around to face him, her sweater and skirt clutched in her hands. “Not for God's sake, Josh. Not for Toby's sake, and most definitely not for mine. You took what you took, Josh, and you knew what you were taking, knew what I was giving. You
knew.
”

Her virginity. She had to mean her virginity.

Josh reached onto the floor for his jeans, pulled them up hastily, then grabbed Emily's arm before she could disappear into the bathroom to get dressed.

“Let go,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I can't, Emily,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “I can't let it end this way.”

Her body slumped against his, her head pressed into his shoulder. “But it has to end, right? Because of Toby.”

He bent down to kiss the side of her throat, rubbed his hands up and down her back. “Because of Toby. He's dead, Emily, and the first thing I do is to move in on the woman he loved. What kind of brother does that make me? What kind of man?”

Emily pushed at Josh's chest, hard, so that he let her go, stepped back to see the fury in her eyes. “I don't get you, Josh, I just don't get you. First you come here to make me feel guilty about Toby, and now it's like you believe you should turn me into some vestal virgin or something, forever untouched in memory of your brother. I loved Toby, he was a fine, fine man. But if you're building a shrine to him, Josh, don't try to make
me
into one of the statues!”

The bathroom door slammed behind her, and Josh slowly walked over to the bed, sat down on the edge, dropped his head forward into his hands.

She was right. Emily was right. The world hadn't stopped when Toby died. Just his world, and Josh's world.

Emily would love someday, be loved again some
day. She'd marry, have children of her own—all of that possible because Toby had given his life to protect her, to make sure she had that “someday.”

But not him. That man, the man she made that new life with, couldn't be him.

The bathroom door opened once more, slamming back against the wall, and Emily stormed into the room, her burnished curls wild around her head, her slim body tensed, ready to go on the attack.

“And another thing, Josh Atkins,” she said, walking toward him, pointing a finger into his face. “Tell me what would have happened if Silas Pike had never found me and you'd come to visit Toby in Keyhole while I was still there. What if you'd looked at me then, and
wanted
me, as you said you wanted me? Would you have walked away because Toby loved me, knowing I didn't love him? Well? Would you?”

He looked at her for long moments, biting back the word
no
that had so quickly leapt into his mind.
No, I wouldn't have walked away. Not if you wanted me, too. Because you were never right for Toby. You're right for me. Even as I'm so very wrong for you.

Josh stood up slowly, reached for his jacket. “I'll take you home now, Emily.”

 

Josh left the Rollins Ranch two days later, his horses loaded into their trailer, heading for the main highway. Emily knew this because she'd returned the favor—become a stalker in her own right. She'd ridden Molly both mornings, an Inez-packed lunch tied
to her saddle, and spent hours sitting on the hillside looking down at the Rollins stables.

She'd felt foolish, she'd felt stupid. But she'd done it, just to see if he meant what he'd said, if he'd really leave.

Leave without saying goodbye.

At ten o'clock, that second morning, she'd gotten her answer.

By noon, she was back at the Hacienda de Alegria, sitting out on the patio near the fountain, her jacket wrapped tightly around her in the chill air, her fists jammed into the jacket pockets, her chin resting on her chest. She didn't know why she was sitting there, how long she would sit there, or if the answer to either question meant more than a hill of beans.

She'd given herself to a man who couldn't give back. How was that for stupid? World-class stupid.

She stretched her jean-clad legs straight out in front of her, lay her head back against the chair, looked up into the watery November sun.

Funny. The sun still came out, didn't it? The world kept on turning on its axis. The chrysanthemums in the garden still bloomed, red and orange and gold. And yet her world had stopped, turned gray, and her mind…? Her mind had closed down, leaving only her emotions. Her hurt.

“Mind if I join you?”

Emily sat up quickly, startled, and saw Dr. Martha Wilkes standing next to her chair, her smile soft, gentle.

“Um, no,” Emily said, getting to her feet. “I don't mind. Why would I mind?”

Martha smiled, pulled up another chair and sat down, motioned for Emily to sit again as well. “Oh, I don't know, Emily. Maybe it's because you've been avoiding me ever since I got here, knowing that Meredith and Joe hoped you'd talk to me.”

“Avoiding?” Emily repeated, feeling her cheeks growing hot. “Oh, no. I haven't been avoiding— Okay,” she agreed, nodding her head. “I've been avoiding you. I'm sorry.”

“And so am I,” Martha told her, reaching over to pat her hand. “Our discussions, if you decide to consult me, should begin with you
wanting
to talk, being ready to talk. Therapy can't be forced, Emily, by either side. I would, however, really like to get to know you better, if only because you mean so much to Meredith.”

Emily's chin hit her chest again as she looked at Martha out of the corners of her eyes. “She's worried about me, isn't she? They're all worried about me. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry that they're worried, sorry that you're giving them reason to worry, or sorry that you're sorry? Because you do sound more than a little angry, you know.”

Emily turned her head, grimaced at Martha. “Is it too much to ask that they just leave me alone? No, don't answer that one. I'm a Colton, and that's the same as saying my whole life is an open book for
every other Colton. Not only do they read it, but they also make notes in the margin, then have a discussion that would put one of Oprah's book reviews to shame.”

“So why do they do that, Emily, do you think? Because they're a nosy bunch—bossy and manipulative—or because they love you?”

“I'm getting the idea you don't ask questions unless you already know the answers, Dr. Wilkes. It's because they love me, of course.”

“I don't know all the answers, Emily. For instance, are you angry that they love you?”

Emily shot out of her chair, took a few steps, then turned to glare down at the psychologist. “I'm angry that they never believed me,” she said, surprising herself with her own vehemence. “Ten years, Doctor, and they never believed me. They taught me how to ride a horse. They taught me to think for myself. They gave me love, they gave me everything. They did everything but
trust
me to know what I saw that day. None of this had to happen, damn it! Not Patsy, not Mom being so lost. Not Toby dying—”

She shut her mouth quickly, put both hands over her mouth as she stared at Martha, then slowly dropped her hands. “What did I just say?”

Martha patted the arm of the chair, urging Emily to sit down again. “Quite a lot, I'd say, my dear. You said quite a lot. Do you want to talk about this some more?”

Emily sat down, moving slowly, feeling fragile,
like an old, old woman with brittle bones. “Yes. Yes, I do. I—I didn't realize I was so angry.” She turned to look at Martha. “I love my family, Doctor. I love them all so much.”

“But families aren't perfect,” Martha said, nodding her head. “They make mistakes, most times out of love, sometimes because of their own denial of events, happenings, beyond their ability to understand them, believe them. You
all
suffered a terrible loss, Emily. All of you. But let's think about that for a moment, all right? Tell me, why do you think Joe and everyone else didn't believe you?”

“Because I was just a kid,” Emily said quietly.

“And later? When you weren't a kid anymore? Why didn't they believe you then? Why couldn't you go to Joe, to one of your brothers or sisters, and tell them about the man you saw in your room? Why did you run away from your family, rather than toward them?”

Emily blinked back tears that stung at her eyes. She knew the answer, had discovered that answer in the cave, talking with Josh. “Because I didn't really believe it myself,” she said, then sighed. “I'd begun to think Patsy
was
my mother, but that something had happened to her, happened to her head, the day of the accident. I believed she'd become mean, heartless, even mentally ill, dangerously ill.” She looked at Martha. “I believed my own mother wanted me dead. How could I say any of that to my father?”

“So you ran,” Martha said, folding her hands in
her lap. “You ran, and you hid, and you were finally proved right when Meredith was found in Mississippi. Were you angry with your family then?”

Emily shook her head. “I was happy,” she said, smiling wanly. “I was
so
happy.” She was silent for a while before adding, “Until I went back to Keyhole and Toby got shot saving my life.” She looked at Martha. “Sophie says he was a hero, and if I try to blame myself for his death, I'm stripping Toby of his sacrifice, making him into just another victim. He
was
a hero, wasn't he?”