no business thinking about at all. Especially since I clearly have no talent whatsoever when it comes to guessing what’s going on inside someone’s head. I mean, really—I knew Michael for how many years? And still...” She shook her head. “So presuming anything about some man I’ve known for a few hours—and half of that he’s either been comatose or not around...”
“Em.” Dee looked almost exasperated. “First off, there’s a huge difference between some dirtwad who’s deliberately trying to keep you in the dark and a guy who’s simply not big on sharing. With anybody, apparently. Even his brothers barely know him, for reasons known only to Colin. So if you think Colin’s got some serious issues—believe me, you’re not alone. In fact, Josh said the same thing. Only I think—” she squeezed Emily’s hand “—that you’ve got enough junk of your own to work through right now without worrying about someone you don’t even know. Because secondly, you’re too damn kindhearted. Always have been. Which is probably...” She bit her lip, and Emily rolled her eyes.
“Go on, spit it out. Which is why I’m in this mess, right?”
“Seeing the best in people is what you do,” Dee said gently. “Who you are. And I wouldn’t change that, or you, for the world. So don’t even go there, you hear me? But it does have its downside.”
“In other words I need to toughen up.”
“Says the woman who teaches kindergartners,” Dee said on a short laugh. “You’re plenty tough, babycakes. But I think...” Her cousin paused, her eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without a boyfriend? A month? Two?”
Emily started. “I...I don’t know. I never really thought about it—”
“Because you’ve never been alone long enough to think about it. And then you reconnected with Michael at that thing at the club, and everyone—his parents, your parents—were all ooh, perfect, and...”
“And I fell right into everyone’s expectations.”
Her cousin’s smile was kind. “Especially Aunt Margaret’s.”
Considering her mother’s apoplectic fit when the wedding was called off? Truth. But...
“You never really liked Michael, did you?”
Dee reached over to stroke the cat. “I never really trusted him. Gut reaction, sorry. But at first I figured it would probably peter out, so why say anything? Especially since nobody made me God. Then you guys got engaged, and... I don’t know. Something felt off. Except then I got involved with Phillippe, and, well. Considering how that turned out, I didn’t exactly have room to talk, did I? And by then you were deep into wedding-planning fever...” She shrugged, then gave her cousin a little smile.
“You could’ve still said something.”
Her cousin snorted. “And would you have listened? Or taken my ‘feelings’ as sour grapes because my own relationship had ended so badly? In fact,” she said before Emily could answer, “I wasn’t all that sure myself I could be objective. Because at that point I pretty much hated anything with a penis.”
Clapping a hand to her mouth, Emily unsuccessfully smothered her guffaw. Then she lowered it, still chuckling, only to release another breath. “I can relate, believe me.”
“Seriously.”
Emily’s eyes burned. “You know what’s really sad? At this point I don’t even know if I was really happy—before the truth came out—or just thought I was.”
“Sing it, honey,” Dee sighed. “But the good news is, at least we grow. Our hearts get shattered and then we get mad and then we get to work. Which doesn’t in the least absolve the creeps of their creepiness. But we gain so much more from the experience than we lose.”
“How...adult of you.”
“I know, right?” Grinning, Dee levered herself off the bed, tugging her robe closed in the desert chill. “You’re gonna be fine, Em. You are fine. And you know what else?”
“What?”
Her cousin’s gaze softened again. “You’re free,” she said, bending over to kiss Emily’s hair before padding out of the room.
For several seconds after, Emily sat on the bed, stroking the cat who’d returned to smash himself up beside her, his purr comforting and warm.
You’re free...
Her eyes watered as the words played over and over in her head. Because for the first time that she could remember...she was, wasn’t she? Free from anyone else’s expectations, like Dee said. Or judgment, or censure. Free to finally figure out who she was, what she wanted.
More to the point, what she didn’t.
True, she’d come for the space. Absolutely. But not to escape. Instead, for the space to claim for herself everything that was rightfully hers.
Including, she realized, the luxury of being herself.
Of being able to do exactly as she pleased without worrying, or even caring, about what anybody else thought.
The headiness almost made her dizzy.
* * *
The next morning, Colin sat outside his parents’ little house in town, trying to get his bearings before facing them. It didn’t help that, despite his exhaustion—or maybe because of it—he hadn’t slept worth spit the night before. Didn’t help that Emily kept popping into his head, although he assumed that was because she reminded him a touch of Sarah. A touch. The long hair, maybe. Her...freshness. That guileless, direct gaze that revealed more than she probably realized.
More than he could possibly handle. Especially after Sarah.
Especially now.
Releasing a breath, Colin got out of the rental and headed toward the house, shrugging into a denim jacket older than God as he sidestepped the same dinged pickup his mom had been driving for years. The impossibly blue sky framed the small brown house, squat and unassuming behind the huge lilac bushes beginning to leaf out beside the front door, the half dozen whiskey barrels choked with mounds of shivering pansies.
Despite the chill, Colin stopped for a moment, taking in the view. The house sat on the apex of a shallow cul-de-sac in a chorus line of a dozen others similar in size, if not in shape or color. There’d been no plan to Whispering Pines, it’d just sort of happened, lot by lot, house by house. But scraping the outskirts of town the way it was, this lot at least had a decent view of the mountains, which probably made Dad happy. It’d been damn good of Granville to give them the house, after the doctors strongly suggested Dad retire. There’d been other provisions, as well. His parents would never starve or be homeless. Still, three generations of Talbots had grown up in the ranch foreman’s house, and it’d felt strange sleeping there—or trying to—last night by himself.
It felt strange, period, being here. Even though—
He jolted when the front door opened, although not nearly as much as his mother when she realized who was standing in her driveway. Her hair was more silver than he remembered, the ends of her long ponytail teasing her sweatered upper arms poking out from a puffy, bright purple vest.
