it came to Ellie Porter. Holding her like this felt like coming home. And yet he was the one who had never left.
At last her burst of grief diminished. He released her immediately when she stepped back. Why wasn’t her husband the one comforting her? Where was the guy?
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I guess I’ve been holding all that inside, trying to put on a brave face for Kirby.”
“Understandable.”
“Thank you, Conor.”
Was he a beast for noticing the soft curves of her cleavage above the bodice of her sundress? Or the way her waist nipped in, creating the perfect resting place for a man’s hands?
“For what?”
“For listening.”
He shook his head. “I’m glad you came to find me. And of course I’ll spend time with Kirby. But I have more questions, and it’s late. Why don’t you bring the baby with you and come up to the ski lodge tomorrow? I’ll even feed you.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“All my guys have gone to Asheville for the weekend to catch an outdoor concert. You won’t see anyone but me.”
She nodded slowly. “I’d like that.”
“Silver Glen has missed the Porters.”
That coaxed a smile from her. “And Conor Kavanagh? What about him?”
He ran his hand down her arms, needing to touch her one last time. “Him, too,” he said gruffly. “Him most of all.”
* * *
Ellie drove the short distance home making sure all her attention was focused on the road. She was painfully glad Conor hadn’t asked about Kevin. It would have been hard to talk about that on top of everything else. Her body trembled in the aftermath of strong emotions, and she felt so very tired. Emory was a good baby and slept well as a rule, but he was a handful. Between caring for him and looking after Kirby and her grandfather, she was running on empty.
Leaning on Conor, even briefly, had felt wonderful. He was the same strong, decent, teasing guy she had known so long ago, but even better. He carried himself with the masculine assurance of a grown man. He had been gentle with her, and kind. But something else had shimmered beneath the surface.
Surely she hadn’t imagined the undercurrent of sexual awareness. On her part, it was entirely understandable. Conor was a gorgeous, appealing man in his prime. But maybe she had imagined the rest. She was exhausted and stretched to the limit and at least fifteen pounds overweight.
She couldn’t even remember the last time she felt sexy and desirable. At least not until tonight. Something about the way Conor looked at her brought back memories of being a teenager and having a crush on her brother’s best friend.
Many times she had envied the bond between Kirby and Conor. Though she and her brother were closer than most siblings, there was no denying the fact that an adolescent boy needed someone of his own sex to hang out with. The two guys had included Ellie in most of their adventures. It wasn’t their fault if she sometimes felt like a third wheel.
And of course, she had never let Kirby see how she felt about Conor. Not even when Conor nearly killed himself and Ellie stood in a hospital room, scared but determined as she gave Conor an ultimatum. It was one of the few secrets she had ever kept from her brother.
That, and her current fear that Kirby was going to give up.
As she pulled into the driveway of her grandfather’s tidy 1950s bungalow, she took a deep breath. She gave herself a minute to stare up at the stars before going inside. Loneliness gripped her, tightening her throat. For better or for worse, she was the glue that held this household together at the moment. The burden lay heavy at times.
Inside, she found Kirby sitting in the dark, kicked back in the recliner, watching a cable news program. She turned on a small table lamp and sat down across from him, yawning.
“Hey, sis,” he said. “Feel better?”
She’d told him she was going for a drive to clear her head.
“Yes, thanks. I appreciate your holding down the fort while I was gone.”
No need to tell him where she had been. Not yet.
Kirby shrugged, his expression guarded. “Even I can do that when our two babies are sleeping.”
“How was Grandpa?”
“Not too bad tonight. He spent an hour telling me stories about Grandma and then took himself off to bed.”
“Good.” An awkward silence fell. No matter how hard she tried to pretend things were normal, they were anything but. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Can I get you anything before you go to bed? Warm milk? A snack?”
Kirby’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. “No. I’m good.”
But he wasn’t. He’d suffered wretched insomnia since the accident. Chances were, he’d avoid his bedroom again tonight and doze in the recliner until morning.
Feeling helpless and frustrated, she stood and crossed the room. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, she put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”
He put his hand over hers. “Go to bed, Ellie. I’m fine.”
After a quick shower, she climbed onto the old-fashioned feather mattress and lay beneath a cool cotton sheet, listening to the sounds of Emory breathing. The baby had been her salvation over the past terrible months. Her little boy was innocent and precious and totally dependent on her for care. She couldn’t afford to have a breakdown or any other dramatic response to the soap opera that was her life.
She had shed her share of tears over Kirby but always in private. It was important to her that he not feel like an object of pity. Which meant she forced herself to walk a fine line between being helpful and smothering him.
Her own tragedy had been forced into the shadows, because caring for Kirby had taken precedence. Seeing Conor again made her dangerously vulnerable. Even though she had sought him out, she would have to be on guard when they were together. She didn’t deserve his care and concern.
As drowsiness beckoned, she allowed herself to remember what it felt like to be close to Conor, first on the dance floor and later as he held her and comforted her. She shivered, though the room was warm. What would her life have been like if she and Conor had never argued so bitterly...if the Porters had never left Silver Glen?
It was a tantalizing question.
But the truth was, she now traversed a difficult road. Grief and fatigue could be dangerous. She should not mistake Conor’s kindness for something more. Her life had not turned out according to plan. Even so, she would not wallow in self-pity. And she would not cling to a man to make it through this rough patch.
She was strong and resilient. She needed to keep her head up and her eyes on the future. The guilt she carried threatened to drag her under, and she would be mortified if Conor ever suspected the truth. His friendship
