hands another squeeze, prompting an answer. “Okay?”
She managed a wobbly smile and nodded, and he rewarded her effort with a smile of his own. “Okay.” He gave her hands another reassuring little shake, then released her. Leaning back in his chair, he scrutinized her. “How much sleep have you had in the past couple of weeks?”
Some of the old Abby resurfaced. She managed an almost real smile. “Good grief, Conner. Don’t you know anything? No one sleeps when you’re lost in the swamp and up to your armpits in alligators.”
He rewarded her effort with a soft chuckle, then he stood up. “Well, I’m here to drain the swamp, lady. So go to bed and get some sleep.”
“I can’t. The kids are home early from school today, and…”
Conner broke his self-imposed rule for the second time that day. He grasped her hand, pulled her to her feet, then pushed her toward the front foyer and the stairs. “Damn it,” he said, trying to sound as if he meant it, “don’t start arguing with me already, Abigail. For the rest of the day, I’m the boss.”
She turned at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at him, a faint glimmer appearing in her eyes. “All right. I’ll give you today, Calhoun. But tomorrow is mine, and don’t you forget it.” Catching him totally by surprise, she gripped his arm, then stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Conner,” she whispered unevenly. Then she turned and went up the stairs, and Conner watched her go, his lungs suddenly so tight it was impossible to get air into them.
A rush of emotion jammed up in his chest, and he anchored his hand on the heavy oak newel post. God help him, he had to keep his head on straight. And he had to do right by her. Because, in the end, that was all he could ever give her.
Beginning to feel the effects of a sleepless night, he returned to the kitchen and poured himself another coffee, then went out and stood on the raised deck, staring out over the expensively designed landscape. Right now a half-hour nap would do wonders, but he knew he’d never sleep with her trapped in his head. Clamping his jaw shut, he forced himself to concentrate on other things, like how he was going to get her out of this pickle without walking all over that damned pride of hers. But he really didn’t have a whole lot of options. Yeah, Abigail Allistair had put on a brave face, and she didn’t expect anyone to bail her out, but he could tell that she was damned near at the end of her rope. There was no way he could walk off and leave her in this mess. So that gave him only one alternative. He was stepping in whether she liked it or not. And it was too damned bad if he tramped on her pride.
His expression set, he went back into the house. For his own peace of mind, he needed to check on her—she was just too eaten up by stress and strain, and far too thin for his liking.
The master bedroom door was ajar, and Conner pushed it open with one finger. She was curled up on the bed, very soundly asleep, her hands tucked under her face. Resting his shoulder against the door frame, he hooked his thumb in the front pocket of his jeans, his expression fixed as he watched her sleep. She was far too thin, but what bothered him more than anything was that her special effervescence was gone—that rare kind of energy that could light up a whole room. It was as if her bright spirit had been extinguished, and she just looked so fragile. He’d give anything if he had the right to hold her, to wrap her up and keep her safe.
Ever since she’d appeared that long-ago Christmas, she had been his still center, and in spite of the emptiness in his life, he wouldn’t know what to do without her there. Just knowing she was alive fortified him somehow.
Abby stirred, curling up tighter, and Conner suspected she was cold. Careful not to make a sound, he went into the room, picked up a throw off the wing chair by the bed, then carefully covered her with it. Some of her hair had come loose from the ponytail, and he very gently lifted the strands away from her face and tucked them behind her ear. His throat cramping up, he let his hand linger just a moment—just a brief, perfect moment before he tucked the cover under her chin. Feeling as if he’d just got punched in the gut, he turned and left the room, soundlessly pulling the door shut behind him. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, uneven breath. He had let himself get far too close. But it wasn’t nearly close enough.
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