was also no denying that his looks were potent.
Or that, when he tried, he could disarm her with his heady charm.
Or that, at the wedding, he’d somehow managed to get her to let down her defenses when she shouldn’t have.
Only for her to end up feeling like a fool...
* * *
“Tell Declan good-night,” Emmy encouraged her niece as she tucked the three-year-old into bed.
Emmy had suggested that Trinity let Declan read the bedtime books she’d chosen. But Trinity had denied him that privilege. She’d granted him only permission to listen to Emmy read them.
Dressed in combat boots, a camouflage-print shirt and pants today, he’d stood in the doorway of Trinity’s room to do that and was still leaning against the jamb.
“Night, Decan,” the little girl said in answer to her aunt’s prompting.
“Night, Trinity. Sleep tight. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he responded.
“Decan’ll be here too-morrow?” Trinity asked Emmy.
“He will. He’s staying with us. In the basement,” she explained, trying not to sound negative despite her own lack of enthusiasm for it.
“Okay,” Trinity said, accepting it far more easily than her aunt.
Trinity’s honey-colored hair was cut into an easy-to-care-for bob just long enough to cover her ears, with bangs that came to her eyebrows. Emmy smoothed them away from the child’s forehead so she could kiss it.
“Goodnight, my sweet-thing,” she whispered.
“Night, my Em,” Trinity said in a sleepy voice before tugging her stuffed monkey to her side and closing her big brown eyes.
Emmy gave her a second kiss, then turned off the bedside lamp and headed for the doorway.
Since Declan had arrived just after dinner tonight, they’d had the kids as a buffer between them. Trinity had been standoffish toward him the day before—she hadn’t seen him for over a year and didn’t remember him despite her grandmother pointing him out in the photograph.
It had taken some time for the little girl to warm up to him tonight, but eventually she’d stopped hugging Emmy’s leg and glaring at him, tentatively letting him in.
When that had happened, Emmy had had the chance to teach him how to hold Kit, heat a bottle, change a diaper and burp the baby. She’d taught the jiggle-and-walk to use when Kit was unhappy, and she’d even tutored Declan through Kit’s bath in the kitchen sink.
Because Trinity fancied herself an expert on her brother she’d added her instructions wherever she’d thought Emmy had overlooked anything. And when it came to Emmy teaching him Trinity’s routine, the three-year-old had insisted that she could do everything herself.
“At least she tries to,” Emmy had told Declan, humoring the little girl. “But sometimes she needs a little help,” Emmy had stated, demonstrating when it came to taking clothes off and putting on pajamas, reminding to go potty and brushing teeth.
But now Kit was asleep and Trinity was in bed, and it was just Emmy alone with Declan Madison.
And while no, she hadn’t had any flashbacks or anxiety, she also wasn’t comfortable being with him. Her stomach was tied in knots. Between that and their history, she knew she was not being very welcoming. But it was the best she could manage. And honestly, she didn’t think he had any right expecting anything more from her.
And his solemn and withdrawn attitude wasn’t making things any easier.
Not that any of it mattered. One way or another she just had to get through this. They both did.
“Now I can finally show you the basement,” she said as she joined him in the hallway, closing Trinity’s door all but a crack, hoping he would go down there and not come up again until tomorrow.
“I nearly grew up here. I know how to get to the basement and what’s down there—unless Mandy changed things up.”
“Oh sure...” Emmy said, feeling stupid for having spent the evening being a bit of a tour guide throughout the house. So why hadn’t he pointed that out to her at the get-go? she thought, not appreciating what seemed misleading by omission.
But all she said was “I wasn’t thinking about you knowing the place probably better than I do.”
Declan didn’t say anything as he waited for her to lead the way downstairs to the main level.
As she did, she wondered if being here was actually the reason for his somber attitude.
“It’s gotten better, but when I first moved in after Mandy died, it was hard—to me, this was her house, her furniture, where I’ve seen her most for the last four years... But for you... I guess I wasn’t thinking about all the memories you must have of this place...of being here with Topher.”
“Mandy redecorated. It doesn’t look anything like it did when we were kids,” he answered without any inflection.
“Still, it’s where you grew up with Topher, and now...it can’t be easy.”
Declan didn’t respond at all to that. It left Emmy wondering if she was right. Or not. At any rate it didn’t seem as if she’d hit on the root of whatever was going on with him.
The silence felt awkward, though, so as they reached the entryway she felt the need to fill the gap.
“Since they built the new garage, Mandy was turning the old one into a guesthouse. She wanted a place for me or for Mom and Dad to stay when we came. It isn’t quite finished yet and there isn’t any furniture, but you could stay out there if you wanted...”
They were passing in front of the sofa where she’d slept for two weeks. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to sleep in Mandy’s bed until she’d rearranged the room. Seeing the couch made her remember that.
As much as it pained her to make the offer when she really wanted Declan to vanish into the basement as often as possible, she forced herself to say, “If it will bother you to use the basement bedroom, you could sleep on the couch...”
“I stayed in the basement bedroom the last time I was here,” he said, again flatly.
And again he left dead air as they passed through the living room and moved on to the kitchen.
Emmy struggled for something more to say. “Later on I’ll have the guesthouse—that’s what Mandy called it—finished, so maybe I can bring the kids for weekends or on vacations to spend some time here. I want the farm to be familiar to them, for it to seem like home as much as it can when I’ll have them living in Denver. Maybe Mandy and Topher won’t mind so much that the kids won’t grow up here if I can at least bring them for visits...”
Declan had been a great conversationalist when they’d initially met in Afghanistan and again at the reception. Even when he wasn’t talking, he’d seemed engaged and interested in everything she had to say. But now it was
