Songbird(14)

She swallowed and then her lips parted in surprise. Torment blazed in his eyes. Guilt. Why guilt? Did he feel like he was betraying Sean? Should she feel like it was betrayal?

Closing her eyes against the sudden rush of tears, she bit her bottom lip to stem the tide of emotion that bubbled in her throat. She had no business making promises with her body that her shattered mind couldn’t keep.

But oh how she longed to say yes. To give in to the craving for his touch.

“I suppose you think it makes me a bastard that you’re here crying—grieving—over Sean and all I can think of is making love to you,” he said harshly.

She hung her head but shook it slowly. Gathering her courage—courage she hadn’t possessed since the day she’d left her father’s rage to confess her feelings to the Donovan brothers—she looked back up, trying to infuse strength into her spine.

“We need to talk,” she said softly. “About a lot of things. Taggert needs to be here.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

Was it relief she saw in his eyes? She supposed she sounded positively sane compared to the way she’d functioned for so long. She’d surprised even herself with her calm and firmness.

She glanced at the clock and saw that it was three in the morning. Had Greer been standing there at the window all night? He looked tired, but more than that, he looked older than she remembered. The kind of old you got by experience, not by true age. He looked as weary as she felt.

“I’m hungry,” she announced.

He cocked one eyebrow in surprise.

She offered a tremulous smile. It was true, much to her shock. In fact, she was starving.

“Buck’ll be pissed that we invaded his kitchen,” he said with a grin.

“I want some peanut butter toast,” she said wistfully. “And a tall glass of cold milk.”

“Come on.” He stood and held a hand down to her.

She let him pull her up and then noticed she was wearing just his shirt. With Buck due in the kitchen in an hour, not to mention the ranch hands that would be in for breakfast and to collect their sack lunches, she could hardly run around like this.

She extricated her fingers from Greer’s hand and dug into her bag for a pair of sweatpants. As she pulled them on, Greer watched her, frowning.

“We need to take you into town so you can buy some clothes and other stuff you need.”

She shrugged and nodded. Everything she had was still in the apartment. Taggert and Greer had said they’d take care of having her stuff stored, and to be honest, she had no emotional connection to it. She’d moved there with the basics, only what she could carry herself, and the rest she’d had delivered to the apartment. It could all rot for all she cared.

“We’ll go after breakfast.”

Again she nodded and then followed him out of the bedroom. Her step was lighter, and for once she didn’t feel overwhelming fatigue at the idea of facing the day.

Greer turned on the light in the kitchen, and she went to the pantry to dig out the huge bulk-sized can of peanut butter. Snagging a loaf of bread, she retreated and set the items on the counter while she fished in the drawer for a knife and a spoon.

Greer set the sugar bowl in front of her, and she grinned her thanks.

“Want some?” she asked.

He gave her a horrified look. “I’ll just eat plain butter toast.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She slathered a generous amount of peanut butter on both pieces of bread and then sprinkled several spoonfuls of sugar over the surface. Behind her, Greer turned the oven on broil, and when she was done, he opened it for her to slide the toast onto the rack.

While she watched her toast, he popped his bread into the toaster then leaned against the counter watching her.

When the peanut butter began to bubble and the sugar caramelized just slightly, she reached in with her fork and pulled the toast to the edge of the rack before sliding it onto a waiting plate.

Greer got a glass down, handed it to her and took her plate to set it down on the bar. After pouring milk, she slid onto a barstool across from where Greer stood buttering his toast.

“I never could understand how anyone could eat that,” he said as he eyed her concoction.

She took a careful bite so as not to burn her lips and sighed in contentment.

“It was always Sean and mom’s favorite.”

She swallowed and nodded, willing the food not to get stuck in her throat.

“He made it for me,” she said softly.

Greer turned his attention back to his toast and then tossed the knife into the sink.

Uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Emily ate mechanically, trying to savor the comfortable taste, but the more she chewed, the more difficulty she had forcing the gooey peanut butter down.

She chased the first piece down with half a glass of milk and shoved the saucer away, giving up on finishing. Whatever spark that had ignited her hunger was doused by the memory of Sean standing in the kitchen licking peanut butter off the knife as he made her toast.

“What are you two doing up?” Taggert asked as he ambled into the kitchen.

Her gaze tracked down his torso at the faded T-shirt and well-worn jeans that clung to his body, outlining his lean hardness. If she remembered right, he was still wearing what he had on the night before, which meant he hadn’t been to bed.