The headache struck without warning. He doubled over and the light around him flickered, and that other sense, that distant echo of a ghost soul connected to his, stirred.
A work-calloused palm rubbed a jaw lined with stubble. A heavy sigh. Gotta shave. Jeans hung low on the man’s hips, the black boots a snug fit. Should be fun to ride the new bull tonight for the crowds. Dangerous as hell. A wicked laugh of excitement escaped him. God, he loved rodeos.
And then just as quickly the image sank below the surface of his consciousness. Emery blinked and rubbed his temples as he straightened. For that single instant he’d sworn he was somewhere else, living in a dream amid mountains where he was himself and yet…not.
He had to talk to Sophie before guilt drove him mad, or madder than he was right now. But first, he needed to do something that was long overdue. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his mother’s number. He hadn’t just hidden from the world all this time; he’d hidden from his own parents. Shame and guilt had erected a wall between them. How could he face them on a day-to-day basis when he’d left Fenn behind to die?
Miranda Lockwood answered after the first ring, her voice soft and worried.
“Emery? What’s happened? Are you okay?”
Deep breath in, deep breath out. He could do this, talk to her, like he used to as a child. “I’m fine, Mom. I would like you and Dad to come to dinner tonight.”
She laughed lightly, but he could hear the hope mingled with hurt in her tone. “Of course we will. We haven’t seen you in nearly five months.”
Five months? He’d really let it go that long without seeing them? That made his guilt all the stronger, until the emptiness and loneliness was so deep he couldn’t feel the bottom. Like dropping a stone into a dark well…It made no sound, only fell forever into the abyss.
There was a pause as her voice wavered and then she breathed out and spoke again. “What time should we be there?”
“Seven.”
“Seven it is. I can’t wait to see you, Emery,” she whispered, still sounding shaky, and the line disconnected.
His throat tightened and he swallowed several times. Hearing his mother’s voice this time brought more comfort than the agony, but the pain didn’t fade. His need to be protected, to hide from everything he was afraid to lose, had already cost him his own family, what little he had in life. The last twenty-five years of his life had been wasted while he’d closeted himself away in this house. His parents had lost two children that night, not just one, and he’d brought that pain on them, not his kidnappers. The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Who were you talking to?” Sophie’s voice drifted across the library.
She was standing in the doorway, still wearing her exercise clothes marked with soot from the fire. Her eyes were wide, dark gray, like summer storm clouds with a hint of blue. They were eyes that saw too much, understood too much. He wanted them to see him. He didn’t want to use words if she could see the secrets he needed to set free.
Moved by the need to hold her, he held out a hand. She hesitated, and then walked to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew his face down to hers to kiss him. Surprised, it took him a moment to react, but then he banded his arms around her lower back to hold her close. She felt so right in his arms, as though some great force had made her for him.
“Who was on the phone?” she asked again when they broke their mouths apart. She rested her hands on his shoulders, the touch light, yet still it made him fight repressed shivers of need for her.
“My mother. I’ve invited my parents to dinner tonight.”
Sophie’s brows winged up over her eyes. “They’re coming here? Tonight?” Her lashes fluttered and she licked her lips.
“I want them to meet you. And I haven’t seen them in several months.”
“Okay.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, still holding him.
Secrets weighed him down, the past a thousand stones in his pockets, pulling him to the bottom of the lake. But if he told her, shared them, he wouldn’t have to keep them alone anymore. He curled his hands around her lower back and lifted her up. Her legs parted, going around his hips as he walked them over to a large couch by one of the windows.
Emery toppled backward, letting her fall on top of him as he sprawled the length of the sofa. He cupped her face. Sunlight wove through the pale gold wisps of hair which had escaped her ponytail. She looked rumpled, wind tussled, alive. The women he’d been with before had never had a hair out of place, never had an ounce of sweat even in the midst of passion. Sophie was different. She lived in her body; she didn’t keep it pale and starved. She was real, and real was what he needed. The time for facades was over.
“I’m going to tell you what happened.”
The heat, which had lit her gray eyes with silver lightning, softened and her smile faded.
“Oh…should we…er…move?” She gestured to their position, where she lay on top of him.
“No. I like you right where you are. You keep me grounded and the nightmares away.”
She relaxed into him and laid her head on his chest just below his chin. Emery curled his arms around her and took a deep breath as he readied himself to plunge into the turmoil of memories.
“Three men came in through the back door leading to the kitchen.”
“The door we came through after the fire today?” she asked.
