I was well aware she had friends who’d go to battle for her at a moment's notice, but something inside me demanded it be me who waged war on the person that dared strike at the innocent, exquisite woman.
She was stunning.
I stared at her for a moment and watched the sunlight flicker off her locks, noticing that while it was black there were hues of purple strands that sparkled. It was as mesmerizing as her dark eyes, brows, and small, perfect, light pink lips.
And while she was small in stature and I towered over her with my six-two frame, she threw off a vibe that even with the trouble I suspected lurked, she was still strong. The double rose tattoo on one of her upper arms was beautiful and added an edge to her as well.
I’d been so swept up for a minute in all things Gemma that I sucked in an anguished breath when my girls ran up asking if Brinley was going to die. The question took me back to the day I found out my wife had died and I wasn’t there with her or when my daughters had been brought into the world.
Motherless.
My jaw clenched but I managed to pull myself together because that was what I’d been doing for almost six years. Peyton and Piper were what was most important and so I sank to my knees to assure them things would be okay.
When they mentioned their mother dying my world shattered all over again. But it was Gemma who came to the rescue. Learning she’d lost her mother too was heartbreaking, but watching her interact with my children was fascinating. She was more nurturing at twenty-two than anyone I had ever met.
My heart picked up momentum and the thumping became more pronounced as I watched Gemma and my girls. They’d instantly warmed to her that first day just as I had, which said a lot about the woman she was.
The conversation they had broke my heart in two, but it was endearing at the same time. They bonded over their grief and it didn’t matter if the girls were six and Gemma was twenty-two because the woman was their age when she lost her mother and she knew all too well what that gut-wrenching loss felt like.
As their conversation came to an end, Embry and Dexter ran up and ended up pulling the girls away, leaving me standing alone with Gemma. I found myself wanting to know so much more about her but knew that probably wasn’t a good idea.
I had twins, was a thirty-seven-year-old widow with issues of guilt, anger, and grief, and I’d only ever loved one woman.
And she was dead.
When Gemma told me that I was doing a good job with the girls and that their mother would be proud of me, I thanked her, but there was a knot in my stomach at her words.
I hoped my late wife would be proud but sometimes I felt as if I was just surviving, not really living. And I constantly questioned if I had been doing right by my daughters. I think that was why I jumped at the chance for a change and moved to Portland to work with the guys.
It was as if I was searching for something but didn’t know what that was.
When Gemma made an excuse to slip away, I watched her go, that mix of guilt, interest, and desire swirling inside me once again.
I closed my eyes for a moment and thought about my late wife, Isabelle. I might have been a big, strong, man, but she was the rock in our relationship.
We'd struggled to get pregnant and once we did she was as over the moon as I was. Tears threatened to gather against my closed lids at the memory. She didn’t even get to see her babies before she passed. She would never get to hold them, play with them, or see them the way I had.
But I had to believe she was watching them just as I told the girls all the time.
Please give me a sign, Isabelle, and show me I’m doing things right.
My eyes snapped open at the sound of the two sweetest little voices in the world. “Daddy!” they both screeched as they came running.
As they reached me, they both leaped at the same time into my waiting arms and I wrapped one up on each side into my embrace.
“Look at that cloud,” they said in unison. “It’s a heart.”
I glanced up into the almost clear, blue sky that only held a couple of clouds and sure enough, one was shaped like a heart.
“Isn’t that cool?” Peyton asked.
Looking at the clouds and telling each other what they reminded us of was something the girls and I liked to do together.
“I think that’s Mommy,” Piper whispered.
“Yeah,” Peyton agreed. “Me too.”
I hugged my girls tight.
