What He Didn't Say (5 page)

Even from where they stood, the ground vibrated beneath her feet as the engines roared to life. The people in the stands erupted in a thunderous shout.

How could she not experience the excitement? How could she not be so moved that she had to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him?

To heck with caution.

 

S
ENSATIONS RUSHED
through Holt like he'd been thrust into a free-fall dive without a chute.

Everything around him blurred until there was only Emma-Lee. When her mouth softened under his, longing, unexpected as it was fierce and intense, clawed his insides.

At the back of his mind a dim alarm sounded, but he ignored it as he cupped the back of her neck. The kiss sizzled, smoldered and sparked. He needed more. He slanted his mouth to take the kiss deeper.

“Hey, buddy, get a room!”

The ribald laughter penetrated the sensual haze, and he lifted his head. Around them race-goers gave them knowing smiles.

Holt tensed. What the hell had happened to his control? He'd been making out in public like a teenager with raging
hormones. He gripped Emma-Lee's wrists and stepped clear of her embrace.

She let her arms fall to her sides as she stood looking up at him. Confusion and uncertainty flickered in her eyes.

Talk about screwing things up. That's what he got for losing his much-vaunted control.

“Emma-Lee, I'm sorry. I'm attracted to you, but kissing a woman in public…” In frustration he raked his fingers through his hair. He wasn't used to explaining himself.

To his surprise she reached out and took his hand. “Holt, it's okay. Let's just write off the moment due to the thrill of the race.”

Okay. Swell. She wasn't reading anything into the kiss. Why did that thought depress him?

She released his hand and stepped away. Her smile wobbled at the edges before firming. “I need to find my folks. However, they always cook dinner after the race. I know Mom would want me to invite you. You can't miss the cherry-red mobile home in the lot, as most people will hightail it out of here after the race.”

Dinner…with the folks? Oh, no. Too much. Too family for him.

Case in point. When he'd returned his father's phone call last Sunday night, there had been long gaps of dead air. Whatever renewed connection the fundraiser had generated between them had already run its course. Much as he liked her mother, having a meal with Emma-Lee's folks would be ten times more awkward.

He shook his head. “I think I will drop into Sizemore's suite for a while and then head to the airport. I'm in the process of launching a new software line and have meetings in Atlanta all this week.”

“Of course. I'll show you to the sponsor suite.”

“No, I've taken enough of your time. Marley wrote the
number on the back of this card, so I can find it on my own. Go enjoy the race.”

“All right. Well.” She held out her hand. “It was nice seeing you again, Holt.”

For some inexplicable reason the civil pleasantry irritated him. “Emma-Lee.” He ignored her hand and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “You take care.”

He stalked off, leaving her with a bewildered expression. Make that two, he thought. Why on earth was he heading toward a room with people he didn't know when he could be with Emma-Lee?

Because business was business. He grimaced. Besides, given the way Emma-Lee intrigued him, he should retreat until he had this fascination firmly under control. Stay within his well-defined world. Safer that way.

An hour later Holt held a glass of water and considered bolting to the airport. It wasn't as if the Sizemores weren't gracious hosts, for they were. Both Gil and Marley had engaged in the polite dance of courting. They wanted something from him, and he wanted something from them.

A fair business exchange from which he had garnered important information about the racing industry. The other sponsors' gossip was worth its weight in gold.

However, he was peopled out. Time to retreat to his Atlanta hotel room that currently served as home. He set down his glass and approached Gil to say his goodbyes. Gil held up a finger as he unclipped his vibrating cell phone. “Yes, Emma-Lee?”

Holt stilled and strained to hear her voice.

“Of course. Don't worry about tonight. I hope your friend feels better.”

Gil disconnected and returned the phone to his belt.

Holt couldn't help himself. “Is everything all right?”

Gil shook his head. “Emma-Lee has a friend undergoing
chemotherapy. She had a bad session yesterday so Emma-Lee's flying to Charlotte to be with her.”

“Excuse me, Gil.” Turning away, Holt pulled out his phone and called Emma-Lee. “Meet me out front,” he said without preamble. “I have a jet at the airport that can be ready by the time we get there.”

He heard her hiss of breath. “But, Holt, I can't ask you to—”

“It's not a problem.” He hung up and turned back to the other man.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Gil.”

The race owner gave him an appraising stare before he nodded. “You're welcome. You take care of
our
Emma-Lee.”

Holt didn't miss the thinly veiled warning, but he turned and left the suite.

He had bigger demons to contend with. Emma-Lee needed his help.

But in order to help her he would have to confront his own private hell. However, he recalled only too vividly the effects of chemotherapy on his mother. He didn't want Emma-Lee to face it by herself. Whenever a disease took up residence, it liked to kick in the teeth of all who dared to come near.

T
HE LIGHT ILLUMINATING
the spacious front porch of the neat colonial-style house barely held the night's darkness at bay.

Emma-Lee cast a worried glance at Holt as they crossed the sidewalk from the driveway. On the short flight from Richmond to Charlotte the few stabs she had taken at conversation had fizzled. The jet had both intrigued and bothered her at the same time. Once she had learned it was his, she had immediately asked why he hadn't used it in West Virginia. His explanation—in for repairs—had been simple but terse, leaving her to wonder if there was more to the matter.

Yet when she had started to talk about her friend Sandy, he had snapped open his laptop and indicated he needed to review a report.

The closer they had gotten to Charlotte, the more remote his expression had become. He'd bundled her into the sleek black sedan waiting for them at the airport, asked for the address and directions and hadn't said a word since then.

Had he regretted his decision to come with her? She stopped on the sidewalk. “Holt, I can't thank you enough for getting me here, but you don't have to go in. This isn't your problem. Sandy will put me up for the night. I'll be fine.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” He took her elbow and propelled her up the wide steps.

The door swung open and Jeffrey Colton stood in the entry. She sucked in a breath. A sports attorney at a major law firm, Jeff normally epitomized the professional image with pressed
pants and crisp, long-sleeved shirts. Tonight with rumbled clothes, five-o'clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes, he looked more like a college student who had pulled one too many all-nighters.

“Jeff.” She rushed forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Where's Sandy?”

“In our bedroom with the door locked. We had a fight earlier. I guess that's when she called you.”

Jeff seemed to notice Holt for the first time. “Sorry. Forgive the manners. I'm Jeff Colton.”

“Holt Forrester.” They shook hands and Jeff stood aside so they could enter. She turned left into the disaster area that was the living room. Emma-Lee's stomach twisted. Dear God, Sandy was such a neat freak.

“Jeff.” She gestured.

“Sorry.” He bent to pick pages of newspaper tossed on the floor. “Sandy's had no energy, and I've been working late hours on a major deal for a client.”

“I had no idea,” she murmured.
But you should have thought of it last weekend and asked if they needed help. You knew how tired Sandy had been in college during treatment.

“Em-a-e!” In the middle of the large sofa, the couple's thirteen-month-old daughter whose reddened eyes told of a recent crying jag held up her arms.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Emma-Lee picked her up and cuddled the toddler close. She inhaled the wonderful scent of powder and baby. There was nothing sweeter.

Over the child's tousled red curls, she smiled at Holt. “Emily Rose, I want you to meet my friend Holt.”

The child gave him a tearful look and then hid her face in the crook of Emma-Lee's shoulder.

“Sorry, she's a little cranky—” Jeff stopped and scrubbed his face with both hands. “God. It seems like all I ever do anymore is apologize.”

He lowered his hands. “My wife had a bad chemo session and has been throwing up all weekend. She's—”

“
She
is standing here and would appreciate it if people quit speaking as if
she
was already gone.”

Emma-Lee turned. Pale and gaunt, her friend stood by the sofa, hanging on to it with both hands. She wore a bright, patterned silk scarf tied around her head. One only had to look at the family photos lining the fireplace mantel on the other side of the room to know mother and daughter shared the same red-gold hair.

“Here.” Emma-Lee thrust the child into the arms of the very startled Holt. She hurried around the sofa.

“Hi, Sandy. Let's go have girl talk and let the boys watch the race if it's still on.”

She circled an arm around her friend's waist, but Sandy kept a death grip on the sofa. “Nice to meet you in person, Holt. I was disappointed when you didn't come over with Emma-Lee last Sunday.”

“Sorry, but I had a business meeting.” He glanced up from watching with horrified fascination the child sniffing his leather jacket. The girl also lifted her head, leaving a spot of drool on the leather.

“How are you, Sandy?” His serious eyes were intent.

Her friend gave a weak laugh. “I've had better moments. I think Jeff could use some male companionship.”

She released her hold and linked her arm with Emma-Lee's. They went into the blue-and-ivory master bedroom where the stink of sickness filled the air.

“Let's get some fresh air in here.”

Emma-Lee guided her friend to the over-scaled chair covered with blue tapestry fabric in the far corner. Then she went to the windows and drew them up a few inches. Looking around, she spotted a throw tossed on the bed and picked it
up. She returned to the chair and wrapped the blanket around Sandy's shoulders.

“Scoot over,” she ordered. When Sandy obliged, Emma-Lee sat next to her and tugged an end of the throw around her. Sandy's body was as stiff as a board. She reached out and held her friend's hand.

“I like your Holt.”

“So do I, but…”

“But what?”

Could she really put a finger on what had happened at the Richmond track when he had visibly withdrawn into a shell and then bolted after she kissed him?

A kiss that even as she remembered it still sent a quiver through her. A man whose kiss was that potent…was she getting in over her head?

Emma-Lee lifted a shoulder. “At times I feel like he's on one side of a computer monitor viewing the rest of the world through it. He said something when we first met that makes me think he avoids any type of emotional commitment.”

Sandy snorted. “Girlfriend, he brought you here, didn't he?”

“Yes, but—”

“It's not like you to be so cautious.” Sandy flipped her hand over and gripped hers in return. “Normally you're more reckless, going where others fear to tread, a quality I've always rather envied.”

“Me? I've always been jealous of you.”

“Old stick-in-the-mud Sandy Colton? Come on.”

“You're a teacher, married to a fabulous man, and have a gorgeous child.”

“Oh, that's right.” Sandy snapped her fingers. “You should be envious.” The tension in her body eased as she laughed and rested her head on Emma-Lee's shoulder.

“What happened this weekend, Sandy?”

“Oh, nothing other than my going on a self-pity binge. My oncologist was cautiously optimistic on Friday and said I need only two more treatments for now.”

“Honey, that's wonderful.” Emma-Lee kissed her cheek.

“Yeah, you would think I'd be in a better mood, wouldn't you?” She sighed.

“But when I got home, Jeff treated me like I was made of fragile glass and I kept vomiting. Hardly the stuff that would get a man into a romantic mood. Then you called all excited about BASE jumping and meeting Mr. Amazing out there.”

“Oh, Sandy, I didn't mean to upset you.”

Her friend shook their clasped hands. “I know that. I just wish…”

“What?”

Sandy lifted her head and looked at her with tear-filled eyes. “I wish people wouldn't be so afraid that if they touch me then they would get sick, as well. Cancer's not contagious, it's only a personal albatross.”

Like an internal savage blush a wave of shame raced through Emma-Lee. How many times had she wanted to escape her friend's illness? How many times had she been afraid the cancer would reach out and grab her?

Her throat was so tight that she croaked, “Confession time?”

“You at times are scared of getting it?”

Oh, God. Sandy knew? Emma-Lee inhaled sharply. “That obvious?”

“Only on occasion. At least you're been there for me even if you secretly wanted to bolt. Several friends have dropped off the face of the planet.”

She swallowed—hard—to speak past the growing lump in her throat. “Sorry. At times I feel so guilty that I'm healthy and you're not.”

Sandy pursed her lips. “I have days where I hate you because you're brimming with life.”

At first the confession astounded Emma-Lee, but then relief seeped in. She wasn't alone in being less than perfect.

“Guilt and hate. Don't we make a wonderful team?”

“It makes us human, Emma-Lee. But you forgot to add love and respect to our dynamic.”

She sought comfort through the ritual the pair had begun in college when they had their first fight. She twisted her hand until her small finger hooked the similar finger on Sandy's hand.

“Still friends?”

“Friends forever.” Sandy sighed and let her hand drop. “So tired.”

“Close your eyes for a moment and rest.”

As she heard her friend's breathing even out, Emma-Lee stretched out her legs. So long as they could push past the fear of death, they would be all right. They had to be. Weary, she shut her eyes.

 

“I
FIGURE YOU OWE ME
a debt of gratitude.” Jeff tucked the blanket around Emily Rose sleeping peacefully in the crib.

Holt still trying to figure out how the heck he'd ended up in as unlikely a place as a child's nursery on a Saturday night gave the other man a blank look. “What?”

The father turned on a night-light and picked up a few stuffed animals from the floor. “When I first met Sandy, she was glued to the hip with Emma-Lee. You would have thought they were blood twins rather than college roommates. Many a guy tried and failed to get past one's scrutiny in order to date the other.”

He placed the toys in a painted wood cabinet. “It took quite a bit of clever and skilled maneuvering by me to separate Sandy from her anchor.”

Despite the little voice in his head warning him he was getting too involved, Holt was fascinated. “Emma-Lee's the anchor of their friendship?”

Jeff threw him a puzzled glance. “Haven't you been drawn into her fold by now? She comes from such a tight-knit family that she radiates this warmth and openness. Sandy's folks divorced when she was young and she got kicked to the side. Enter Emma-Lee with her open arms and heart and presto, a friendship as thick as blood.

“By convincing Emma-Lee that I was Mr. Right for Sandy, I was able to win Sandy's heart.”

He moved past Holt into the hallway. “Given my wife's ad nauseam conversation this week of how you rescued Emma-Lee, you've come a long way in securing her approval. You may even stand a chance with Emma-Lee where others have failed.”

Holt slipped his hands into his pockets. “I'll have to remember that detail.”

He should make an excuse and leave. It wasn't as if Emma-Lee was expecting him to stay. The women had been hidden away in the bedroom for an hour now without a sign of them reappearing. For all he knew, Emma-Lee had forgotten he was even here.

Up until now, he'd been unable to offer anything but a pat on the shoulder or a brief comment when others faced illness or death. Another indication Emma-Lee was starting to mean something more to him. Watching his mother's long and ultimately unsuccessful fight with cancer had burned out all ability to deal with any more sickness. He'd borne the burden once in life, and he didn't intend to ever go through such an ordeal again. The pain at the end was simply too agonizing to bear.

Jeff stopped in front of the bedroom door and silently
turned the handle. The tender expression that swept across his face was so private Holt had to turn his head.

“Come here. You have to see this.”

With leaden feet, Holt approached the door and looked inside. Across the room the two women slept peacefully together in a chair. Emma-Lee's arm was wrapped protectively around her friend's shoulders.

An emotion so raw and alien to him that he couldn't even label it gripped his heart. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest to relieve the ache.

The scene before him tore loose a memory. Right after his mother had been diagnosed, her crying had awakened him. He'd run into his parents' bedroom. His father had been holding her, running a comforting hand along her back. Unable to bear the look of grief on his father's face, Holt had backed out without saying anything.

Holt retreated, from the memory, from the Coltons' bedroom.

Swinging the door closed, Jeff whispered, “Beautiful, aren't they?”

“Yes.” The question burst from Holt. “How do you bear it?”

“Sandy's illness?”

“Yes.”

Jeff lowered his head. “I could give you the easy answer that I made a vow to be with her in sickness and health.” He waved his hand. “But you and I both know how easily that pledge is broken in this day and age.

“I bear it because my life began and will end with Sandy. She's everything. Together we will beat the cancer. Together we will watch Emily Rose grow up and, God willing, have several more kids.”

To Holt's consternation, Jeff's shoulders shook and he pressed a hand to his eyes.

“Excuse me.” The man hurried down the hall and disappeared inside the bathroom.

Holt leaned against the wall. Emotionally, his father hadn't survived the loss of his wife. Leaving Holt to fend for himself with his grief, Sam Forrester had retreated into the black-and-white world of mathematics he taught at the local college. No family member or friend had stepped forward to help.

The Coltons were very fortunate. They had Emma-Lee in their corner.