The Fifth Season (7 page)

“I need to see your father.”

“Why? What’s he to you?”

“Do you really want to know?” Emma pushed his hand off her arm, stepping forward and jabbing a finger to his chest. “You don’t care. You won’t forgive.”

“Damn right, I won’t forgive. That man’s nothing but pig slop to me.”

“It’s a shame, you know? The two of you have so many wonderful qualities in common it’d be a real show stopper to see who’d out spit the other.”

Stone glared at her. “I’m nothing like that man.”

“You’d be surprised.” Emma turned once more, heading into the house.

“Does he have to come here?” Stone called.

She paused and thought a moment. Attempting to lay her emotions aside and think clearly, Emma contemplated her best interests. She faced Stone.

“No, I’ll go to him.”

“See?” He grinned lopsidedly. “We can do this. You don’t have to run away every time I’m being difficult.”

Emma didn’t find any of this humorous. Actually, her stomach felt as if it’d sunk to the bottom of Jenny Lake. She’d go to Nate. She’d stay with Stone. Why then, did it all feel wrong?

“I’m no longer hungry.”

“What a shame,” Tilly interrupted, scooting in from the kitchen. “Maybe he’ll appreciate a little company of the more friendly kind.” Emma watched in astonishment as the chef gracefully slid into the chair beside Stone. “It’s a shame for all the food to go to waste,” she practically cooed.

Turning to see Stone’s reaction, her gut twisted painfully at his obvious interest in Tilly.

“Fine, Tilly. It appears Mr. Connor might be up for a little friendly conversation.”

Turning, she walked as gracefully as possible across the deck and into the house. She could feel his black gaze burning her back. Damn, but if she wasn’t jealous…

***

“So, Mr. Connor, what’ll it be? Appetizers? Or do you want to skip right to dessert?”

Stone eyed Tilly. He couldn’t believe Emma walked away leaving him here with this over-bearing, top-heavy, slithering slut. It appeared Ms. O’Malley didn’t care whether or not he accepted Tilly’s unspoken invitation.

That bothered him.

He slapped away the all too familiar feeling of abandonment. Emotion wasn’t good. Swearing silently, he realized Emma O’Malley was no better than his father. The second something he said or did contradicted her goals, she ran. He hoped the exit door didn’t sting too badly when it hit her on the back.

“Just make me a plate, Tilly. I’ll take it to my room.” He rose and grabbed the wine. No use wasting a good chardonnay. “Alone,” he continued as Tilly waggled her brows.

“Your loss, boss.” She left the deck and went into the kitchen returning a few minutes later with a steaming plate of food. “Enjoy.”

Stone took the plate and headed to his suite. Needing Emma’s cooperation to continue the successful atmosphere of River Run was one thing, but wanting her with every thread of his existence forced him into a territory more dangerous to him than his last mission.

Why must she be so difficult?

Why did he care?

***

Emma sat on the edge of her bed, a faded picture held lightly between her fingers. Tears edged her lashes and dropped silently onto her cheek, weaving a warm path to her chin. She sniffed, grabbed a tissue off her nightstand, and continued staring at the photograph.

Nate Connor’s blue eyes stared at her. They were identical to Stone’s and caused an uncomfortable hitch in her heart. These men belonged together. Time hadn’t healed their wounds it only rubbed the salt of anger deeper into the raw flesh. She closed her eyes and images flashed in her mind.

A tiny piglet wiggling from strong arms, dashing across the barn yard and straight into Emma’s grasp. How’d Nate known? Was it be possible for a man who’d abandoned his only child to understand that her aching, thirteen year-old soul, needed something to hang on to…something to remind her to live? If that were the truth, then Nate Connor paid more than once for past indiscretions.

Emma stood up, swiped the tissue across her face, and exited the bedroom. Her wine was on that back deck, and she’d muck stalls before allowing Tilly to consume that bottle

The deck was empty.

Dishes were gone, glasses cleared away and the ice bucket vacant of her coveted fruit.

Wow, she thought. They’d moved fast.

Ignoring the envious rage building, Emma returned to her rooms.

She needed to leave.

She wanted to stay.

Shaking her head in frustration, she let loose a strangled scream. Could life become more complicated?

A soft knock on her bedroom window startled Emma. She peered out the curtains and frowned when Nate’s face smiled back. Damn. She opened the window, and he climbed through.

Her heart hammered in fear. If Stone pulled one of his silent approaches, she’d be done for.

“Nate, you have to leave.”

“Why?” He yanked her into a fierce hug. “I miss you baby girl.”

She pushed back, patting his cheek and smiling. “I miss you, too. But Stone’s threatened me with dismissal if he catches you on the property.”

“I see,” he said. A familiar cloud descended across his eyes, and she couldn’t hold in her derisive snort. “What?”

“You and Stone have a lot in common.”

“I should hope not. I’d hate to think he’d fallen down the same hell-hole I did.”

“Maybe not the same, but he’s somewhere blacker than a bear’s butt.” Emma walked to her door and made sure she couldn’t hear the approach of footsteps.

“Who taught you to speak like that?”

“You did,” she smiled then sobered. “I’ll come to you.”

He stared at her long and hard then shook his head. “Don’t you dare. It’s too risky.”

“No it’s not.”

“Emma, there’s been talk in town.”

She frowned and wondered at the sudden change in conversation. “What kind of talk?”

“An Irish political member, possibly Seamus, is searching for property to purchase in this area. His goons have been blabbing all about his wealth and celebrity status. They’re stinking up the saloons.”

His last words froze her in place. “What’re you doing in the saloons?” Why hadn’t she been told? Time for new spies, Emma quickly decided.

“It’s not what you think, sweetie. I’m collecting their old bottles and making lamps.”

“Lamps? Since when?”

“Remember I made the one for the Christmas party last year? Billy Perkins loved it and stuck it in his store. Apparently, a lot of other people loved it too. I’m doing quite well. But this is all beside the point.”

Emma’s mind spun. Nate committing to something? Doing something with his life? She’d become used to her job of making sure he felt connected, making sure he didn’t slip down the alcoholic landslide that’d left him broken and alone. “I’m sorry, Nate. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, baby girl. I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ve started building my cabin on that lot Margaret left me. I feel good.”

“I love you,” she said, her eyes tearing up. She’d been a fool to think he couldn’t survive without her.

“Back to the men in town…”

“It could be anyone,” she said. Her fingers twined together, and she dug her nails into her skin.

“It sounds like him.”

“Do you think he knows I’m here?”

Nate ran his hand over his face and shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it’s too close. If he gained access to privileged files, he’d know about me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. He’s done it before.”

“But why now? Why fifteen years later?”

Nate scratched the back of his head. “Elections, I gather. Let me do some more digging and see if something’s triggered this renewed search, if that’s what it is. Then again, baby girl, it could all be innocent.”

If Seamus Adams were here, her life flipped from complicated to impossible. The man that scraped a bloody knife across her mother’s throat and watched coldheartedly as life slowly seeped from eyes that used to bathe Emma in love, was closing in. “I don’t think so. I’ve felt exposed and wary ever since Margaret passed away. I’m thinking now’s a good time to trust my spidey sense.”

“No, you’re hurting. We’re all hurting. But I want you to promise me something.” He squeezed her shoulder.

“Anything, Nate. What can I do for you?”

“No. It’s what you can do for yourself.”

“What?”

“I want you to ask my son for help.” His words slammed into her like an icy snowball.

“No.”

“He’ll help you,” he said. “I can’t anymore.”

“No. He’s not the boy you remember, Nate. He’s no hero just a broken man mad at his father and the world.”

Nate frowned and shook his head. “I think you’re wrong, at least partially. I’m sure he’s mad at me. I did some unforgivable things. But he’s not broken, not my son…not a Connor.”

“Whatever,” she sighed. “But I’m not asking for his help.”

“I’ll not leave until you promise.”

“I can’t make that promise. You’d better go. Old soft shoe himself could come barging in here at any moment and send us both out on our skinny butts.”

Instead of going to the window, Nate walked to her door. He opened it and proceeded to walk out.

“Where’re you going?”

“To tell my son you need help.”

Emma’s heart stopped. No. If Nate knew how much Stone hated him, it’d send him back to the bottle for sure. If Stone knew Nate was here, it’d send her right out into the cold and smack in the face of Seamus Adams.

“I promise,” she said softly.

“I didn’t hear that?”

“I promise.”

Nate grinned, stepped back into the room and kissed her cheek. He then slipped silently out the window. Emma swore silently. With the threat of Seamus Adams, she needed to insure her job was safe. As much as she hated the idea, an apology was in order, but she’d hold off on her promise. Nate hadn’t specified when she needed to confess.

***

Emma stood outside Stone’s door. She hated groveling but revenge wasn’t a worthy ally.

One cheek biting apology needed delivering.

Knocking gently on the door, she waited. Was Tilly still inside performing all sorts of contortions on his body? Jealousy wasn’t an attribute she usually labeled herself with, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Knocking once more, her breath hitched when she heard a soft moan.

A muffled scream followed. Emma turned to leave, hating the bitter emotions swirling in the pit of her stomach. Another yell stopped her. That wasn’t erotic, it was panicked. The following howl, propelled her forward, through the door at a dead run. Something was wrong.

Stone was in bed, alone, tossing back and forth fighting an invisible demon. Emma rushed to his side. She grabbed for his arm.

“Stone, wake up.”

He struck out. His fist connected with her cheek, knocking her off the side of the bed. Scrambling back to her feet, Emma climbed on the mattress and straddled his chest. She couldn’t match his strength. Struggling against his powerful muscles, she called his name.

“Dammit, Stone, wake up.”

All motion stopped. She exhaled in relief when his eyes opened. Her heart caught as her gaze fell into sapphire pools of raw pain.

“You were having a nightmare.” Heat soaked through the sheet, through the fabric of her pants, and straight into her core.

The anguish written across his face sliced through her soul. Wherever he’d just been must have been three levels lower than hell.

He reached up, caressing her cheek. His touch sparked flames that simmered and burst into a raging inferno. She closed her eyes. Pulling her down slowly, he touched his lips hers. Jolts of desire slammed into her chest, causing her breath to catch. Stone deepened the kiss, running his tongue across her mouth and then tugging her closer and plundering within.

He needed. She gave.

It was a kiss meant to heal but instead Emma felt as if her world disintegrated into nothing more than the ashes left behind by summer firestorms. He consumed her, touched and taking with his tongue more than she’d bargained for.

Blood pounded through her brains. Emma knew if she didn’t break the kiss, she’d be lost forever.

***

Stone was dying. Every nerve fired blasts of desire and need, burning through his reserve. The feel of Emma’s lips against his triggered emotions he knew weren’t ready to see the light of day.

Taking one last sip of pure ecstasy, he held her face gently between his hands. Running his tongue lightly over the sweet edge of paradise, he inhaled the light scent of jasmine that swirled and touched his senses then committed it all to memory.

He couldn’t have this.

Stone closed his eyes, pushed Emma back and pulled away.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. He brought forth the memory of the life fading from his men--it helped crash down the gates against the enticing allure of Ms. Emma O’Malley.

“You were having a nightmare.” The sudden confusion in her voice twisted his gut into knots.

“I thought you were someone else.”

“Oh, I see.” It didn’t matter that she hid her face and scrambled off the bed faster than a coyote leaping for its kill, Stone saw the pain. He also saw a huge dark smudge beneath her left eye.

“What the hell?” Reaching across the bed, he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer so that the dim light of the bathroom highlighted her face. She turned away. “What happened to your face?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. It looks like you’ve been hit.” Lifting her head slowly, Stone inhaled at the anger blazing from her emerald eyes…eyes that belonged in a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow and not shadowed by fear and disgust.

“I was.”

“Who?” He ran his finger across the swelling flesh, and she pulled back as if his touch revolted her.

“You. You hit me.” Emma jumped off the bed and dashed from the room.

Stone collapsed back onto his pillows. His head pounded and felt too heavy to hold up. Scrunching his eyes closed, he tried to breathe past the pain in his chest. Another person he’d hurt. Another innocent life his poisoned fingers had touched. He could remember her smile, remember her laugh at his clumsy attempt to help her pig, remember the wonder on her face as she watched an eagle fly. But he couldn’t remember his fist connecting with her soft skin. What fuck-up.