next to her. She felt like … suppressing everything and never leaving the house
again.
She groaned and reached for her letter. No
return address. She opened it.
Adam will be back soon.
The letter fell to the floor.
“No, no, no,” she whispered. “It’s not
possible!” I saw him die.
Emma slammed the cork on her spinning
emotions and climbed into the shower, struggling to scrub free mud,
fear, and memories. She calmed under the warm current of water and
rested her head against the wall.
Tristan could fix Sissy. She would face
whatever else it was that followed.
She stayed in the shower until the water grew
too cold to bear. She escaped to the guest bedroom to compose
herself before she joined the two in the living room playing
backgammon. Her mother sat on the floor, cross-legged like a
youngster, snacking from a bowl of popcorn. Tristan was devilishly
mysterious in a cool green, short-sleeved cashmere shirt and camel
khakis. His feet were bare, revealing well-cared-for feet and long
toes. He smelled of sandalwood, night, and dark spices. Emma fought
the urge to move closer, if only to smell him.
“Who’s winning?” she asked.
“I am,” Mama answered. “Wanna join?”
“Don’t really care for games. How’s
Sissy?”
“Her color’s returned, and she actually
smiled in her sleep,” Mama replied. “Tristan thinks she’ll wake in
a day or two.”
“Will she be better for good?” Emma asked,
eyes drifting to the solid, silent man beside her.
“Yes. She’ll be weak for a while,” he
answered without looking at her. Emma’s eyes lingered on his dark
eyes. She recalled briefly how he scared her the night before. Was
he enough to counter the black witch? What if Olivia found out she
failed, tracked her down, and tried to hurt the rest of her family?
Once Sissy was well, and her debt to Tristan paid, would she alone
be enough to keep the black witch from attacking her family?
Maybe if she surrendered to Olivia, it would
be enough to satisfy the psycho. The thought weighed heavily on
her.
As if hearing her disturbed thoughts, Tristan
looked up to meet her gaze. His eyes were warm, and she found her
face growing warm at his direct look
“Why is my dog all dirty?” he asked.
“Something you want to tell me?”
Her face grew warmer with irritation.
“Tristan had to take her downstairs and spray
her off. Where did you go?” Mama looked up. She couldn’t fault her
mother for asking, but she could damn Tristan for instigating.
“Just wandered around and took a detour,” she
said vaguely. “Isolde can eat six cheeseburgers.”
“I don’t think you should feed a dog
cheeseburgers,” Mama said with a small laugh. Tristan frowned, and
Emma sensed he agreed. She looked away from his gaze. “Doodle, why
don’t you and Tristan go out tonight? You can get away a little and
relax together.”
“We’re here to support you, Mama,” she
countered. “Why don’t you take a break instead?”
“Kid, I get the mornings off. Take a break.
You always overdo it,” Mama said with familiar firmness. Emma
gritted her teeth, seeking some sort of excuse that would not
further entrench her mother’s suggestion.
“We’ll go out for a bit,” Tristan said before
she found the words.
She wanted to refuse but knew nothing she
said would come out tactfully. She needed Tristan here, at least
until Sissy was better. She sighed. Tristan’s hand found her wrist,
and he drew it to his thigh, caressing its underside again. Her
surging emotions faded once more until she felt herself ready to
doze. His touch suffused her arm in warmth, his fingers freeing her
tension with the slightest touch.
Her eyes closed, soothed. She stayed until
their game was over and then went to change for their date.
* * *
Tristan knew she was stalling, but he waited,
talking to Mama. Isolde climbed onto the couch and stretched its
length, content after a day with some exercise and her bath. Emma
finally emerged from the
again.
She groaned and reached for her letter. No
return address. She opened it.
Adam will be back soon.
The letter fell to the floor.
“No, no, no,” she whispered. “It’s not
possible!” I saw him die.
Emma slammed the cork on her spinning
emotions and climbed into the shower, struggling to scrub free mud,
fear, and memories. She calmed under the warm current of water and
rested her head against the wall.
Tristan could fix Sissy. She would face
whatever else it was that followed.
She stayed in the shower until the water grew
too cold to bear. She escaped to the guest bedroom to compose
herself before she joined the two in the living room playing
backgammon. Her mother sat on the floor, cross-legged like a
youngster, snacking from a bowl of popcorn. Tristan was devilishly
mysterious in a cool green, short-sleeved cashmere shirt and camel
khakis. His feet were bare, revealing well-cared-for feet and long
toes. He smelled of sandalwood, night, and dark spices. Emma fought
the urge to move closer, if only to smell him.
“Who’s winning?” she asked.
“I am,” Mama answered. “Wanna join?”
“Don’t really care for games. How’s
Sissy?”
“Her color’s returned, and she actually
smiled in her sleep,” Mama replied. “Tristan thinks she’ll wake in
a day or two.”
“Will she be better for good?” Emma asked,
eyes drifting to the solid, silent man beside her.
“Yes. She’ll be weak for a while,” he
answered without looking at her. Emma’s eyes lingered on his dark
eyes. She recalled briefly how he scared her the night before. Was
he enough to counter the black witch? What if Olivia found out she
failed, tracked her down, and tried to hurt the rest of her family?
Once Sissy was well, and her debt to Tristan paid, would she alone
be enough to keep the black witch from attacking her family?
Maybe if she surrendered to Olivia, it would
be enough to satisfy the psycho. The thought weighed heavily on
her.
As if hearing her disturbed thoughts, Tristan
looked up to meet her gaze. His eyes were warm, and she found her
face growing warm at his direct look
“Why is my dog all dirty?” he asked.
“Something you want to tell me?”
Her face grew warmer with irritation.
“Tristan had to take her downstairs and spray
her off. Where did you go?” Mama looked up. She couldn’t fault her
mother for asking, but she could damn Tristan for instigating.
“Just wandered around and took a detour,” she
said vaguely. “Isolde can eat six cheeseburgers.”
“I don’t think you should feed a dog
cheeseburgers,” Mama said with a small laugh. Tristan frowned, and
Emma sensed he agreed. She looked away from his gaze. “Doodle, why
don’t you and Tristan go out tonight? You can get away a little and
relax together.”
“We’re here to support you, Mama,” she
countered. “Why don’t you take a break instead?”
“Kid, I get the mornings off. Take a break.
You always overdo it,” Mama said with familiar firmness. Emma
gritted her teeth, seeking some sort of excuse that would not
further entrench her mother’s suggestion.
“We’ll go out for a bit,” Tristan said before
she found the words.
She wanted to refuse but knew nothing she
said would come out tactfully. She needed Tristan here, at least
until Sissy was better. She sighed. Tristan’s hand found her wrist,
and he drew it to his thigh, caressing its underside again. Her
surging emotions faded once more until she felt herself ready to
doze. His touch suffused her arm in warmth, his fingers freeing her
tension with the slightest touch.
Her eyes closed, soothed. She stayed until
their game was over and then went to change for their date.
* * *
Tristan knew she was stalling, but he waited,
talking to Mama. Isolde climbed onto the couch and stretched its
length, content after a day with some exercise and her bath. Emma
finally emerged from the
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