The Edge of Heaven (28 page)

"But you didn't," Rye said.

"Neither did you," Sam pointed out. "Not until now. You've known for what? Almost eighteen years? Look, I just didn't want to screw up your life, okay?"

Rye laughed at that. "I sure didn't need any help doing that."

"Mine hasn't exactly been a prime example to follow."

"Ever kill anybody? Ever been to prison?" Sam just stared at him. "Look, I'm sorry I can't just leave, okay? We're both stuck in the same town for a while. I can't change that. But you don't owe me anything, and I sure don't expect anything from you."

"Then why'd you come here in the first place?" Sam asked.

Shit.
"I don't know."

What was there to say after that?

He couldn't change a damned thing.

"Come on," Sam said. "We'll call Rick. I'll take you over to meet him, if you like. We'll get your truck and your things from the house, and then you can do whatever you want."

* * *

Rick did indeed have a room to rent. It wasn't much, a place to sleep, place to wash up. But then, it was bigger than any cell Rye had ever been in. It looked just fine to him. He struck a deal with Rick on the rent, and Rick said he could move in that day. Then they drove to Sam's house to pick up his truck and his things.

They got there, and a pretty blonde woman came out onto the front porch. She gave Sam a beautiful smile. Tears glistened in her eyes as Sam introduced them. Rye nodded politely and couldn't quite imagine his stern-faced big brother with someone as open and gentle as her.

She ignored the hand Rye extended to her and wrapped her arms around him tightly instead, squeezing hard and reminding him of Emma.

"I can't believe I finally get to meet you." She stepped back, beaming up at him. "We moved your things into the back bedroom. It's as out of the way as things get around here, so it should be fairly quiet, even once the kids get back."

"Rachel, he's not going to stay here," Sam said.

"Oh..." She looked from one man to the other, obviously wanting to protest, but fighting the impulse. "Well... whatever you want."

"I appreciate the offer," he said.

"And I'm so thankful that you were here when Emma needed you." She did start to cry then. "I can't help but think of what might have happened, and... Well, we couldn't bear to lose her."

Rye wasn't quite sure how he was going to manage without her himself.

"She's a great kid," he said, because she was as lost to him as any female possibly could be. He had to both remind himself of that and reassure Sam and Rachel that he was very much aware of the fact that Emma was just a kid.

"Where is she?" Sam asked.

"Dozing on the sofa in the family room." Rachel looked to Rye and explained, "She hasn't been sleeping well at night."

Rye certainly knew that.

"I should get going," he said, wanting to be gone before she woke up. "If you don't mind, I'll just get my things."

Rachel looked like she might well argue about him going. Could she really want him to stay? In her house? With her kids? Surely the past few days had proven that they really didn't know him. What did a blood tie really amount to when two people were strangers?

"Come on," Sam said, leading Rye into the house.

Rachel followed, offering to pack his things for him, but he declined her offer. So she directed him to a bedroom upstairs at the far end of the hall.

He scarcely let himself glance into the rooms. It all looked so ordinary, much like the place where he'd grown up. Grace's room was hot pink and filled with stuffed animals and what looked to be leftovers from the seventies, a decade he understood was in the middle of a comeback. Zach's room was plainer, with none of that fuss, just about three-dozen sports trophies. Looked like he was a ball player, baseball and basketball.

Emma's room...

God
, he thought,
don't even look into Emma's room.

But this had to be it. Soft and romantic looking, the walls a rich, creamy, soft butter color and the bed...
Damn.
It was made of swirling iron, washed in that same creamy color, four posts nearly touching the ceiling and draped in gauzy fabric in the palest of lavenders that matched the sheer curtains.

He really didn't need to have a picture in his head of Emma in her bed, but damned if it wasn't right there now that he'd seen her room.

Rye walked into the last door on the right and saw that Rachel had indeed intended to make him feel at home. She'd put fresh flowers here, and the room smelled faintly of cinnamon, warm and inviting. Like he was an honored guest.

No way he was staying here.

He threw things into his bag, had very nearly made good his escape when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He turned around and there was Emma.

Chapter 14

She stood in the doorway wearing a soft pink sweater and a pair of blue jeans that lovingly followed every curve of her eighteen-year-old derriere. Her whole face lit up with a smile, and then she threw herself into his arms.

Rye had no choice but to catch her.

"You're free." She wrapped her arms around him, buried her face against his neck.

For a minute, he couldn't do anything except breathe in the scent of her, the sweet hint of vanilla and warm woman-child. He hadn't thought to ever have her in his arms again, and he shouldn't even want that, not now that he knew her little secret. But she'd gotten under his skin.

He was dismayed to learn that it wasn't enough—knowing how impossibly young she was—to stop him from remembering the way it had been between them. How sweet it was, how soft she was, how good she smelled, the distinct pleasure of holding her close and kissing her soft lips.

Damn
.

He really hadn't expected to have to fight this particular battle anymore, thought whatever was between them would have magically disappeared, like smoke dissipating into thin air.

"Emma?" He set her firmly away from him and stepped back.

Eighteen,
he told himself, trying to construct a huge blinking, neon sign in his mind and superimposing it over her image.
Eighteen. Eighteen.

It wasn't quite doing the job.

He was so happy to see her.

"You okay?" he asked.

Tears swirled up in her eyes, but she smiled and nodded. "Are you?"

He nodded, then wanted to growl at her. "They told me what you did. You shouldn't have, Emma."

"What? I should have let you go back to prison? I couldn't do that. I couldn't have stood it."

Sam was right about that part. She never would have been able to put this behind her if he was locked up. Still... "I know how much that guy scares you."

"He's in the hospital," she shrugged. "They're still trying to pretty up his face, and when they're done, he won't be anywhere near here."

"You're still going to be scared," he said.

"For a while." She was too honest to lie about something like that. "But I'll get over it, and I've got Sam and Rachel and... What about you? Do I still have you?"

"Emma," he protested.

She stared at the suitcase on the bed, nearly full of his things. All the light went out of her eyes. "You're not staying?"

"Not here, but I have to stay in town."
Away from you.
He'd have thought that wouldn't be hard at all, but saw now that he was wrong.

It wasn't that he wanted anything to do with an eighteen-year-old girl. He just wanted the woman he'd thought she was, all that hope and understanding, her all-knowing eyes. What had happened to that woman? Where had she gone?

Sometimes he thought he must have made the whole thing up, that the things he remembered couldn't possibly have happened between him and Sam's little girl. But here she was, looking so innocent and yet so hurt. God, he didn't want to hurt her or for anyone else to ever hurt her.

"I want you to be careful, Em. I don't care where you think that jerk is."

"I will. Rachel and I are going to take self-defense classes at the Y. Sam said if I knew where to hit and how, I could hurt just about anyone."

"You could." Rye could teach her a thing or two about how to hurt somebody in a fight. He'd learned the hard way. "Still, promise me you'll be careful."

She lifted her chin and smiled at him. "You do care about me."

Oh, hell.
"I told you, I don't want anything to happen to you."

"That's part of it."

"No, that's it," he insisted, backing up a step.

"If you say so," she said, but by her tone, she might as well have come right out and called him a liar.

He decided retreat was his only answer. "I have to go."

He zipped up his bag, took one more look around the room, and when he turned around, she was right there, wrapping her arms around him once again. She just never learned, he thought. This really had to stop.

"Emma—"

She hung on tight. "I'll never forget what you did for me."

"Forget it, please."

"No, I won't."

He closed his eyes and hugged her close, in spite of himself. "Emma, I killed somebody. That's got to mean something to you. That you should stay the hell away from me, at the very least."

"No." She backed up enough to look him in the eye, looking as sure of herself as he'd ever seen her. "That's not what it means."

"I almost hit you," Rye said, firmly pushing her away. "You know that, don't you? It's like a fog comes over me in a fight like that. All I know is that someone's after me, and I've got to be tougher than they are, or I might end up dead. It was true when I was in prison, but I'm not in prison now. I was in your living room, and I nearly hurt you before I figured out who you were."

"But you didn't hurt me," she insisted. God, she had to be the most stubborn woman alive.

"I scared you half to death. I know that."

"Yes, it scared me. But you know what? Lots of things in my life have scared me. I've come through them all. And I'm not scared of you. I know you would never hurt me."

He wished he could believe that. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't be anywhere near her. "Just be careful, okay? Promise me that?"

"You sound like I'm never going to see you again."

He shrugged, carefully trying to keep his distance. "It's a small town. I'm sure we'll run into each other from time to time."

"But you and Sam... You're his brother."

"I know, Emma."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"No."

"Over me?" She drifted closer.

"No." What was there to fight about? She was eighteen.

"You promised me you'd give him a chance."

"I've got a whole year. I'm sure I'll run into him, too." Who knew what might happen then? He hadn't thought much about it. He hadn't had many second chances in his life.

"I'm glad you have to stay."

She reached out and put her hands on his shoulders, lightly. They fluttered against the muscles at the top of his arms, and before he could protest, she was coming closer still.

It wasn't such an inappropriate kiss, just a feather-soft touch. It was everything that had come before that made it decidedly inappropriate. It was him remembering and wanting her back, the Emma who couldn't possibly be eighteen. The good girl who made him wish he could be a good guy. The woman who constantly had her hands all over him.

Again, he thought, where exactly had she gone? That woman had been here with him just a few days ago. He knew what they'd shared, cursed himself for showing so little restraint in that time, yet was profoundly grateful for what restraint he'd mustered. When he thought of what might have happened...

Rye took her by the arms and pushed her firmly away.

She gave him a downright wicked grin that said she knew exactly what he'd been thinking.

There was a sound from the hallway. They both looked up in the same instant and saw Sam.