The Fifth Season (16 page)

He ran his hand over his chin as if looking for the beard he’d shaved away in summer. He’d used it as cover, Emma thought. Hiding from a face he didn’t want to see. “Stone?”

He turned, his eyes tortured with memories she could only guess at.

“Tell me about the men that died that day. I want to know their names, where they came from, who they were.”

“Who they were?” He shook his head in disgust. “They were damn fine soldiers.”

She smiled. “The best of the best?”

“You betcha. Our team incorporated the highest trained, most lethal squad of Rangers.”

She nodded and walked to his side. Placing her hand in his, she stroked his fingers gently. He responded by pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.

“It seems to me that a team as deadly as your Ranger squad should certainly have all the right qualifications to think independently under adverse conditions.”

“Of course,” he said, his muscles tightening in defense.

“Then would you please explain to me why you feel that you’re the only one responsible for the death of this highly trained, elite squad of soldiers?”

“I…”

“Did you have all the pertinent facts for this mission?” Emma persisted; not giving him a chance to retreat from what she prayed was an attack in the right direction.

“I can’t answer that.”

“Did you knowingly waltz into enemy territory with the prime objective of obliterating your squad?” Harsh words, harsh reality.

“Of course not.”

“Did you fire a bullet into the heads of your men?”

“Damn, Emma…you know I’d never do something like that.” He hissed the words, narrowing his eyes in defense.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I know. Just like I know you’d never willingly endanger anyone. Mistakes, bad judgment of superior officers, poor information, whatever it was, I know in my heart and in my mind, that it wasn’t you. You didn’t kill your men. Circumstances did.” She scrutinized his face. The muscle above his right cheekbone twitched, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Circumstances beyond your control.”

He gathered her tightly against his chest. She inhaled his scent, wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. Stone held on, she could feel the heat of his tears against her hair and knew her own stream of sorrow dampened his neck.

Emma didn’t know how to bridge his hurt, how to heal his wounds. If he couldn’t move forward, beyond this well of grief, then she agreed with him. They didn’t have a future. She wouldn’t accept anything less than love from Stone Connor. And if he didn’t love himself, he’d never learn to love her. Because she loved him with a greater passion than the majestic sweep of the Grand Tetons, and she knew that over time, he’d resent that. His back would turn and he’d leave…away from her, away from love.

He released her, cleared his throat and moved quickly past her into the dark recesses of his suite. Emma let him go. Sinking into the sofa, she buried her face in her hands and wept.

***

The house closed in around Stone. He tugged on his boots and thick woolen sweater, exiting through the French doors. Pausing on his deck, he stared into the night allowing the bitter cold to numb his face and freeze his turbulent emotions.

The full moon cast a ghostly sheen on the meadow. Quaking aspens shivered and rubbed their branches together in an eerie symphony. A pack of coyotes howled, and he watched their shadows race across a distant field. His breath caught when he realized the beauty of the surroundings were seeping into his soul, soothing, calming, warming.

She’d done this.

Emma brought light into his darkness, laughter into his sorrow.

I love you
.

Her whispered words caressed his tortured mind. Did she? Or in some twisted sense of need, were her emotions clinging to him for safety and security?

Seamus Adams. They’d been unsuccessful at cramping his campaign and the last conversation with Lazarus, his government inside man, confirmed the Irishman’s frontal assault against all remaining factions of Hugh Gallagher’s organization. Unsettling reports of deadly elimination tactics troubled Stone.

He knew what needed to be done.

A trip back to hell needed to be made, a quest of freedom…for Emma, for himself.

His resolve reaffirmed, he entered the suite. Tossing his sweater on the edge of the bed, he strode to the phone and dialed a number burned into his memory decades ago.

A computer voice requested his identification. He gave it and waited while internal security granted access and connected him with Lazarus.

“Stone, my man, I’ve been waiting for your call.” A deep gruff voice rumbled through the phone line. If he’d never met Lazarus, Stone could imagine a large, bear of a man sitting behind a desk. But, he’d be wrong. Lazarus more than likely paced the room in short ferret strides, indigenous to his slight physique. His slender form, however, carried an intelligence trusted by men as high as the President.

“What’cha got?”

“This is tricky. You sure you want in?”

“Yeah.”

“You know it comes with a price.”

“Whatever.”

“Stone, you’ll have to go in one more time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, dammit. I understand.”

A deep sigh reached his ears, and he could almost imagine Lazarus tapping a pencil against his desk. “Can you handle another trip into those jungles?”

“I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Okay. I’ll arrange it. But Stone…” Lazarus paused, and for a second Stone thought a denial was eminent. “She’d better be worth it.”

“She is,” he said and hung up the phone.

The pieces were on the board. It was time to start playing the game.

Chapter Eleven

“Where were you last night?”

Emma looked up from the computer. Stone appeared rumpled and haggard, the bags beneath his eyes a deep purple.

“I thought we needed some space.” Her heart hurt. Maybe it’d be better to end things now, before either of them became more emotionally involved.

“I don’t need space.” He leaned his hip on the edge of the desk and bent to peer intently into her face. “I need you.”

“I need space.”

“It’s like that is it?”

“Yes, it’s like that.” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper, and she battled against her blurring vision. Turning her attention back to the final checklist that brightened her computer screen, she ignored Stone and the tears that wanted to spill.

“Look who’s running now.” He stood, shook his head and left the office, his words hanging in the air. Emma wanted to run. She wanted to race into his arms, have him tell her everything would be fine, have him tell her he loved her. Have him tell her anything but the self-damning pain he’d shared last night.

She’d been through this before. Guilt over surviving that tarred a soul until it remained encased in a walking coffin. Breathing, talking but not living. Nate Connor did that. She’d witnessed his hatred, listened to him spew about the unjust, watched as he escaped into the depths of whiskey hell.

Too drunk to care, not drunk enough to forget.

Well, she wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t willing to waste her life being dragged into a pit full of self-loathing. Emma inhaled sharply. Her thoughts were taking her away from Stone, away from his love. She closed her eyes and rested the back of her head on the chair.

Stone and Nate were closer in personality than either one of them wanted to admit. Maybe they needed to face each other, face their demons together.

This refusal by Stone to admit his father to River Run itched at her more irritatingly than an angry rash.

With a resolve she wasn’t at all comfortable with Emma picked up the phone and called Nate.

***

The doorbell rang and both Emma and Stone raced to answer it.

“Expecting someone?” she challenged.

“This is my home,” he retaliated.

“Your home?” Emma bit down on her next words, knowing they’d only exasperate the situation.

He tilted his head and challenged her with a raised brow. “I own it.”

“For how long?”

Stone stepped back as if her words were a physical slap. “For as long as I deem necessary.”

Deciding to end this line of discussion, Emma switched the subject. “You’ve never answered the door before.”

“I guess I always figured you’d be here. Now, well, now I’m not so certain.”

She glared at him, once more drowning the words she really wanted to say. “It’s probably only a delivery for the party tonight. Don’t waste your valuable self-hatred time on worrying about River Run.”

He stared at her a moment then shook his head. “You win.” Stone backed off and allowed her to open the front door. She hated this bickering.

“What’s he doing here?” Stone pushed her out of the way and ripped the door wide open to reveal an astonished Nate.

“I was invited,” the elder Connor insisted.

“By who?”

“Emma.”

Stone’s shocked expression lanced her heart. She knew immediately the grave mistake she’d made. “I thought maybe you two could talk.” Why did she call Nate? Everything about this screamed meddling and lack of support. She desperately wanted this rift to mend, but the look in Stone’s eyes told her this wasn’t the way to accomplish it.

Stone covered his hurt with the steely gaze he’d worn the first few weeks at River Run. “When and if I ever choose to talk to my father, it’ll be done on my terms and my decision. You’ve no right.”

“I know,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, I made a mistake.” Emma turned and faced another Connor with the same blue eyes and same hurt expression. She’d managed to pour a gallon of salt into this family’s open wound. “Please go Nate. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

He nodded and retreated down the stairs. Emma bit back her tears. She loved him, the broken man who’d nursed her childish wounds and helped her face life with a stiff upper lip.

But the man standing angrily behind her consumed her heart, owned her soul. She’d never be free of him, never.

“What games are you playing, Emma?”

She sighed. “I don’t know.” She turned and walked past Stone, heading back to her little corner of the estate. She didn’t want to fight. “It was poor judgment.”

“Don’t walk away from me.” His tone stopped her, the anger clearly audible.

“I’m sorry. In my own way, I was trying to help.”

He reached her side in two strides, taking hold of her shoulders and spinning her around. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see the hurt her actions created.

“What’re you sorry for? Dammit, look at me. What’re you sorry for?”

She glanced up; the pain in his face forced the tears burning her eyes to fall and snake a hot path down her cheek. “I shouldn’t have called Nate. It’s just you’re both in a bad place, such a bad place, I thought that maybe you’d be able to help one another.”

“My father belongs in hell and nothing you will ever do or say will change my feelings regarding that matter.”

“That’s harsh. He’s not an evil man.”

Stone shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And right now I don’t particularly feel like sharing. Remember this and remember it well, that man isn’t to step foot on my property. Ever.”

She swallowed and nodded. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to realize she couldn’t fix this problem, for either of them.

“He’s not to have any part of what’s mine.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“That means you.”

She felt sick. “Please don’t ask me to choose.”

“Would I lose?” Stone stared at her, his words brittle and harsh in the silence of their surroundings. The pale rim around his mouth signaling the amount of emotion he held in check. Emma resisted the urge to lean forward, to brush away the stray lock of hair that highlighted his furious gaze.

“Yes.” Her voice caught, tears strangling her ability to speak. Every inch of her body hurt as pieces of her heart crumpled and fell away.

Emma pulled away from Stone and walked to her room. She stood in the doorway, attempting to process all the convoluted feelings tying her insides into knots. She felt rather than heard Stone’s presence behind her. His arms reached around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

Closing her eyes, her heart pounded loud enough to be heard on the other side of the Rockies. She turned within his embrace and rested her cheek against his chest.

“I’m so sorry.” Her words were muffled as she buried her face in his shirt. He smelled wonderful and she wanted to stay here, within his arms, forever.

“Hush, I know you are. Don’t cry.” He ran his hands up and down her back and whispered sweetly in her ear.

“I can’t fix you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“You can’t love me.”

His hands paused, and he pulled back. Knuckling her chin, he forced her to look into his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“Because if you don’t love yourself, how can you love someone else? You’ll end up hating me, hating my love.”

He grinned and shook his head. Bending down, his lips touched hers lightly. “I couldn’t ever hate you.” He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along her teeth then searching deeper. She melted into him, taking all he offered. Stone pulled her tightly against him, devouring her mouth, sparking an inferno of desire.

“I’m so confused,” she said, when he allowed her a chance for air.

“No more talk.” He pulled her shirt up and tugged it over her head. She gasped as cool air tickled her skin, causing goosebumps to sprinkle up her arms. Grinning, he snapped open the button to her jeans and slowly slid the zipper down. Emma closed her eyes and languished within the feel of his touch. His palm caressed her as he pushed her jeans down. In an instant she was naked, standing before him, ready and wanting. He stepped forward and laid her gently on the bed, wiping away her doubts as his head bent to kiss her tenderly.

***

Emma listened to the commotion taking place in the kitchen. She snuggled closer to Stone, hesitant to break the tentative bond they’d put back in place.