She rode in silence as they drove the short distance from the guesthouse to the mansion they had shared. Now it stood silent and empty. They had been happy in the sprawling, palatial two-story house until they lost their son. She didn’t want to live in it alone. It was too big, too empty without Tom. He’d seemed to fill it with his presence when he would come home. When they had Ryan, his childish voice and laughter had also seemed to fill the big house. At present, she found it empty, isolated and sad. She didn’t like living alone in it and she didn’t intend to ever again. This wasn’t the place for her any longer.
The house had a somber effect on her and Tom seemed to react the same way. They both were quiet as they walked to the door. Tom still had a key and opened the door to hold it for her. She walked through into the spacious entryway, switching on lights as she went, although it wasn’t dark outside yet.
She suddenly thought about Ryan running around in front of the house when he was so small. Tears came and she wiped them away quickly. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder at Tom, and he looked stricken. She guessed that he, too, was thinking of Ryan and hurting because he hadn’t been in the house in almost a year. He rubbed his eyes—the tough, decorated Ranger who had been in combat, been wounded, been a prisoner until he escaped. She couldn’t bear his grief, which compounded her pain. When she turned away, crying silently while she tried to get control of her emotions, Tom put his arm around her.
“Come here,” he whispered. Sobbing, she turned to him and they held each other. His strong arms around her felt wonderful and she tightened her hold on him as if she could squeeze out some of his strength, transferring it from him to her. He was a comfort and she hoped she was for him. She stroked his back, relishing holding him. It had been so long since she had been in his arms.
“I’m sorry, Tom. Sometimes I just lose it and I guess you do, too. Having you here helps,” she said, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
He looked down at her, easing his hold on her slightly. “I’m glad I’m here for you. It helps me. Grieving is part of it that we can’t escape.” She nodded as he released her. She missed his strong arms around her.
“I’m okay now. Thanks.”
They went through the house to the large room that was her office. “I’ll get the CPU out for you, Emily,” he said and strode past her. “I’m sure this is futile, but it would be ridiculous for Nathan not to check it out.”
“While you do that, Tom, I’ll pick up a few things to take to Royal.”
“Where’s that white cat of yours?”
“Your cook has Snowball until I get settled in Royal. You don’t care, do you?”
“No, I don’t care where your cat is.”
It seemed natural to be in the house with Tom again. She watched him hunker down to disconnect the CPU, the fabric of his jeans pulling tightly over his long legs. Desire swept through her, and she turned to leave the room abruptly to get away from him.
In less than half an hour they were on their way to Royal. They rode together in silence. She knew he was bound in his own thoughts as much as she was in hers, and they had little to say to each other. While they didn’t talk, she was acutely conscious of him. She hadn’t been around him this much in a long time. And their time together was just starting. How could she live under the same roof with him again without being in his arms and in his bed and back on an emotional roller coaster?
She glanced at his hand on the steering wheel. He had a scar across the back of it that had healed long ago. He had scars all over his body from his time in the military.
His hands were well shaped, nails clipped very short, veins showing slightly. Too easily she could remember his hands drifting over her when they had made love—strong hands that could send her to paradise.
She realized her thoughts were carrying her into a place she didn’t want to go. “I think you’re right about the divorce. We’ll get it—that’s inevitable—but I don’t like getting a divorce because of Maverick, either.”
“Let’s table the divorce for now. I’ll try to find out how much effort Nathan is devoting to catching this troll. The meeting Monday at the club may shed more light. If we don’t divorce and we both stay at the house in Royal—”
“Maverick will know you’ve become my bodyguard,” she said, shaking her head.
“Not necessarily. If I help you restore the old house, it’ll look as if we’re back together. For all anyone knows, we’re fixing it up for you to sell. For a few weeks, maybe we should keep quiet that I’m worried about your protection and that we’re not really together anymore.”
“That’s fine with me. Anything to defeat Maverick. Frankly, I’m still amazed I’m a victim. I’m not the sweetest person, but I usually get along with people I know and work with, neighbors, church friends.”
“I’ll ask you the question that Nathan is going to ask—do you have any enemies? Anyone who doesn’t like you or you’ve angered?”
She laughed softly. “Tom, I may have people who don’t like me, but if so, I don’t know anything about it. I don’t have enemies. I can’t think of anyone.”
“The whole world loves you,” he remarked. “That’s what you’ll hear from Nathan, I’ll bet.”
“The one person I’ve made the most unhappy is you,” she answered quietly, and he glanced quickly at her and back at the road. When she looked again, she saw his knuckles had tightened on the wheel.
“Hell, Emily, I loved you with all my being, but we’ve just had so much happen between us there is no way we can go back to that life we had. When I ask if you have angered anyone, I’m talking real enemies.”
“I know you are,” she said, hurting inside because she’d answered with the truth. There was no one who had been as hurt by her or more at odds with her or more disappointed by her than Tom. “We’re not real enemies and you’re a good guy.”
“Thanks for that much, Em. Think about it. Think if there is anyone you’ve crossed who might hold a grudge.”
She gave a small laugh. “Darla from our class in high school. Oh, did she have a crush on you. Now if this had happened when we were sixteen instead of now when we’re thirty-two, I’d give out her name in a flash, but the last I heard she’s married and has three kids.”
“I hate to say this, but I don’t even remember the person you’re talking about.”
“One of your groupies.”
“I didn’t have groupies.”
“Every cute football captain has groupies.”
“May have seemed so to you, but I didn’t. And I haven’t been called cute since I was five.”
“You were cute. That was the general consensus with all the girls. Ooh, long eyelashes, broad shoulders, cute butt, sexy, to-die-for—”
“Stop it.” He laughed. “If I had only known then—you didn’t tell me all that when we were in school.”
“Of course not. It would have just gone to your head—or
