She stilled, arrested by that voice, captured in its dark magic.
“Mags has always loved red roses,” he said.
Sam waited for him to say more, but then realized he wasn’t going to. They were for Maggie. Gorgeous bouquets on his shoulders, his back, bleeding down his arms.
She rested her cheek against his skin and listened to air fill his lungs, through the layers of skin and bone. She loved him, and she was so afraid to say it.
“Halloween,” she said, and he tensed beneath her.
“Yeah?”
“I want to come.”
Eighteen
“You didn’t have to,” Shane protested as Emmie slid his brown bag lunch across the island.
“You say that every morning,” she said. “And every morning I tell you that I have to make the rest of our lunches and wouldn’t think of leaving you out.”
His smile in these situations was always warm, kind, and tinged with awkwardness. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not.” She smiled back, hoping to convey her genuine warmth.
Walsh’s half-brother was a sweetheart in every sense of the word. Kind, careful, always apologetic and respectful. If she was honest, Emmie had a difficult time imagining that they’d actually patched him into the club. She wished he’d learn to just take his lunch and not feel guilty about it.
“Ta,” he said, palming the bag.
“What is it today?” Walsh asked, moving up silently beside her.
“That leftover roast chicken we had, on sourdough.”
“Mustard?”
“The spicy kind.”
He flicked a small, pleased smile.
“I checked on your mom,” Emmie added, “and she’s still asleep.”
He nodded. “Good.”
Bea had been struggling with arthritis pain the last few weeks, and not sleeping. Several mornings, Emmie had come downstairs at six-thirty to find the house spotless and breakfast already in the making. Which of course meant Bea’s pain was even worse. “I can’t sleep,” she’d complained, dark eyes full of tears, small frame bent nearly double. Walsh had come up with some oxy last night, and clearly it had worked.
“You guys gonna be in the shop today?” Emmie asked.
“Yeah,” they said in unison.
It was the new normal, this morning routine. Emmie woke at ten till six, showered, dressed, and headed downstairs while Walsh showered and shaved. They all checked in with each other in the kitchen, before work. The family. She wanted to pinch herself most days because she couldn’t believe the good fortune of this gorgeous house, her beloved farm, and the man who’d given her a family.
“What are…” she started, and the doorbell rang.
A single whip crack of tension moved through all of them; she felt it in her stomach, saw it in their faces.
The doorbellneverrang.
“Stay here with Em,” Walsh told Shane, and headed toward the front of the house.
Emmie rolled her eyes, gave him a five second head start, then followed.
