stared up at Rye. Rye who'd looked so troubled and so reluctant all along. She thought of the way he was so reluctant for Sam to even know he was here, almost like he was testing the situation first, before deciding whether he was willing to reveal his true identity.
But why? If he really was Sam's brother...
Emma put her hand over the receiver and faced Rye. "Who are you?"
He stared for a second, then turned and looked away, up toward the ceiling and through the window and off the back porch, anywhere but at her.
Wow.
He looked so uncomfortable, she thought he might head for the door and not come back. She couldn't let that happen.
"Sam?" she said into the phone. "I'll do something tonight. I'll go somewhere or have someone come stay at the house. Promise."
"I wish you'd come here," he said.
"I know... I just... I have some things to figure out on my own. I'll talk to you, tomorrow, okay?"
"No, it's not okay."
"Sam—"
"I know. You're not a little girl anymore."
He sounded like such a father then, like such a great father. He was having a really hard time with the idea that she was growing up. Not that she seemed to be doing a good job of taking care of herself at the moment.
But if this was his brother...
She looked back at Rye, pacing the length of the kitchen. Sam would be so surprised. What a wonderful Christmas present that would be.
"I love you, Sam. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
She felt so much better, so excited, and she might just have to pull out her helpless female act again. Might as well have something good come from it. Because she had to get Rye to stay. Maybe between now and when Sam came home, she could figure out why he was so reluctant to tell anyone who he was.
"He's not coming?" Rye asked when she hung up the phone.
"No. I told him not to."
"And he agreed to that?"
"You think he should ignore what I want?" she asked.
"If it doesn't make any sense, yes."
Oh, that was Sam, all right. In truth, she was surprised he'd given in so easily. But there had been those very earnest conversations about her growing up and their faith in her ability to take care of herself, them wanting her to have the chance to make decisions on her own. They were both trying so hard. Sam just wasn't any good at letting go of people. He'd lost too many people.
"What?" Rye asked.
He sounded nearly as gruff and out of sorts as Sam could at times, when he felt too much and tried to hide it. It reminded her of the Sam of the old days, the man he'd been when she and her brother and sister had first come here. A man who was afraid to care too much, but did anyway. She liked to think they'd given as much back to him as he'd given to them.
"Nothing," she said. "I was just... You never told me how you felt about Christmas decorations."
"Christmas decorations?" He looked incredulous at the change of topic.
"You know, lights, wreaths, ribbons, bows? I'm all for them, myself." Especially if they'd keep him here for a while. No way was she letting him go.
He tilted his head to the side and frowned. "You want my philosophical take on Christmas?"
"No," she admitted. "I just want you to stay. Just for today?"
"Emma," he protested.
"Please. I have to get the Christmas lights up, one way or another. I'd have to be outside for hours, and you were so worried about me being locked up safe and sound yesterday that I just thought, you might..."
"You're going to blackmail me now?" he asked.
"Would it work?"
* * *
She was up to something. Rye knew it. But at least she didn't look so scared anymore. Her hand had shook as she picked up the phone when Sam called, and he hated the idea of Emma so scared her hands were shaking.
There'd been something odd about that phone call, too. For a minute, he could have sworn she knew everything. But she couldn't, because he was once again in the wrong place, checking out the wrong man.
She couldn't know. Something else was going on.
"You look guilty, Emma." She was no good at hiding her
But why? If he really was Sam's brother...
Emma put her hand over the receiver and faced Rye. "Who are you?"
He stared for a second, then turned and looked away, up toward the ceiling and through the window and off the back porch, anywhere but at her.
Wow.
He looked so uncomfortable, she thought he might head for the door and not come back. She couldn't let that happen.
"Sam?" she said into the phone. "I'll do something tonight. I'll go somewhere or have someone come stay at the house. Promise."
"I wish you'd come here," he said.
"I know... I just... I have some things to figure out on my own. I'll talk to you, tomorrow, okay?"
"No, it's not okay."
"Sam—"
"I know. You're not a little girl anymore."
He sounded like such a father then, like such a great father. He was having a really hard time with the idea that she was growing up. Not that she seemed to be doing a good job of taking care of herself at the moment.
But if this was his brother...
She looked back at Rye, pacing the length of the kitchen. Sam would be so surprised. What a wonderful Christmas present that would be.
"I love you, Sam. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
She felt so much better, so excited, and she might just have to pull out her helpless female act again. Might as well have something good come from it. Because she had to get Rye to stay. Maybe between now and when Sam came home, she could figure out why he was so reluctant to tell anyone who he was.
"He's not coming?" Rye asked when she hung up the phone.
"No. I told him not to."
"And he agreed to that?"
"You think he should ignore what I want?" she asked.
"If it doesn't make any sense, yes."
Oh, that was Sam, all right. In truth, she was surprised he'd given in so easily. But there had been those very earnest conversations about her growing up and their faith in her ability to take care of herself, them wanting her to have the chance to make decisions on her own. They were both trying so hard. Sam just wasn't any good at letting go of people. He'd lost too many people.
"What?" Rye asked.
He sounded nearly as gruff and out of sorts as Sam could at times, when he felt too much and tried to hide it. It reminded her of the Sam of the old days, the man he'd been when she and her brother and sister had first come here. A man who was afraid to care too much, but did anyway. She liked to think they'd given as much back to him as he'd given to them.
"Nothing," she said. "I was just... You never told me how you felt about Christmas decorations."
"Christmas decorations?" He looked incredulous at the change of topic.
"You know, lights, wreaths, ribbons, bows? I'm all for them, myself." Especially if they'd keep him here for a while. No way was she letting him go.
He tilted his head to the side and frowned. "You want my philosophical take on Christmas?"
"No," she admitted. "I just want you to stay. Just for today?"
"Emma," he protested.
"Please. I have to get the Christmas lights up, one way or another. I'd have to be outside for hours, and you were so worried about me being locked up safe and sound yesterday that I just thought, you might..."
"You're going to blackmail me now?" he asked.
"Would it work?"
* * *
She was up to something. Rye knew it. But at least she didn't look so scared anymore. Her hand had shook as she picked up the phone when Sam called, and he hated the idea of Emma so scared her hands were shaking.
There'd been something odd about that phone call, too. For a minute, he could have sworn she knew everything. But she couldn't, because he was once again in the wrong place, checking out the wrong man.
She couldn't know. Something else was going on.
"You look guilty, Emma." She was no good at hiding her
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