Unintentionally Mine Page 5

  But Chloe shook her head. "It's confidential, Em. You know I can't say, but know that if she goes there, a social worker will visit regularly to make sure she's...safe."

  "Safe? Safe? You have to check on them to make sure she's even safe?" Where did loved and nurtured fall under that low standard? "There has to be someone else in the family—"

  "There isn't," Chloe said, looking tired. "It sucks, but at least she has relatives willing to take her in. Otherwise, she'd be in foster care for good."

  Emma tried to imagine the little girl so far away, hiding in that barn from people who ignored her. Her hands started to shake and a cold chill settled in her bones. "She can't go to South Carolina."

  "Well, what do you suggest? You want to take her?"

  Emma stared at Chloe in shock. "What?"

  "Never mind." Chloe pulled open the door of her rusting Volkswagen. "I need to go—"

  "No, wait." Emma grabbed the frame of her door. "Could I foster Mattie? Or even...adopt her?" The words tumbled out before she even meant to say them. The idea was terrifying, but at the same time, it felt right, so right. If she could help her—

  Chloe sighed. "Emma, you're freaking out right now, but it's all going to work out—"

  Emma gripped the car door. "I'm serious. Could I?"

  Chloe's eyes narrowed. "Emma, first of all, Mattie has two sets of relatives willing to take her. You're not related, and you're not even married anymore. You've known her for less than a year. No judge is going to think a single, unrelated woman is a better option for her than family."

  "But her family sucks."

  "It's the way it is," Chloe said, her voice softening. "I know it's hard, but Mattie is luckier than some kids who lose their parents."

  Emma looked up at the house and saw Mattie's face appear in one of the third floor windows, watching her. In that window, she looked so tiny and alone, a little girl completely lost. God, how many times had Emma done the same thing? Sat in the window and wished for something to be different? Emma felt her heart start to break again. "Can I at least foster her instead of this family? Or take her for a weekend?"

  "Don't do it."

  Emma stared at Chloe. "Why not?"

  "Because Mattie doesn't need her heart broken again. If she gets too attached to you, it's one more loss she will have to suffer when she loses you."

  "She won't lose me—"

  "No?" Chloe tossed her purse onto the front seat. "Are you going to move to rural South Carolina to hang out with her when she gets placed with her grandparents?"

  Emma's throat tightened. "Just one weekend. Just to give her a break. Birch Crossing's summer festival is coming up and she'd love it—"

  "Don't do that to her, Emma. It's not fair to her to bring her into your world just because you're lonely."

  "I'm not doing this for me. I'm not lonely—"

  Chloe gave her a penetrating look as she slid into the driver's seat. "You just got divorced yesterday. Your dreams are shattered. You're reeling, I know you are." She managed a grim smile. "Trust me, I know. You're in no place to make decisions like this. You're not going to be able to adopt her, so don't try to foster her. Seriously. Be Mattie's friend, but you need to let her deal with her own life or she won't be strong enough to cope with it." She turned on the car. "I need to go." She pushed a tangled strand of brown hair off her face, and Emma suddenly noticed how tired Chloe looked.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  Chloe hesitated, then shrugged. "No time for anything but to be okay, right?"

  It was a lie. Something was seriously wrong with her friend. Emma put her hand on the door as Chloe shifted into drive. "Want to get a drink one night this week? Girl time?"

  "I can't. I have some stuff I need to deal with." Chloe glanced back at the house and waved to Mattie, who was still watching them. "A heart can be broken only so many times," she said softly. "Don't break hers again, Emma. It's not fair."

  Emma closed her eyes. "I would never break her heart."

  "Not on purpose, no, but by accident? It's very possible. There's not much holding her together right now." Chloe waved her back so she could close the door. "Go home, Emma. Give yourself a break."

  Then she shut the door and drove off, leaving Emma on the sidewalk.

  For a long moment, she could only stand there watching Mattie in the window of that huge house, until her mind no longer saw a little brown face with dark pigtails, but a blond-haired, green-eyed girl whose spirit was breaking day by day, night by night...the girl she had once been...

  Tears burned her eyes, and with a small wave at Mattie, Emma turned away.

  * * *

  The grief would not stop.

  It was long past midnight, and the tears would not stop flowing. Emma wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself, as if the weight of the wool would stop the chills from digging in deeper.

  The moon was bright on the water, and her rickety dock was hard beneath her butt, which was numb from over two hours of sitting on the bare wood, but still she didn't move. What had all this been for? Five years of marriage, two years of hell trying to get out of it, and then today's terrible day with Mattie...

  Isolation pressed down upon her. Failure. A sense of hopelessness. Fresh tears streamed free, and all the recent years of trying to be strong seemed to be nothing more than a great joke on her. It was too hard, seeing her friends moving into their roles as wives and mothers. How hard she'd tried to find that, how hard she'd fought in her marriage, only to have it spoil and fester in ways she could never have conceived of.

  Her prince, the man who had swept her out of her life and thrust her into a fairytale, had been nothing but a monster who had nearly destroyed her. Chloe was right. There was no joy in knowing that her marriage was finally over. It was just a sense of loss. Of failure. A grim truth of what life was really like. It hadn't felt real these last two years while she'd been going through the divorce. Too much battling, too much confrontation, too much survival just to get through each day.

  But now that the fight was over, she felt like she'd been left drained and exhausted on a patch of mud, with no strength or will left to pick up and start over with. And Mattie, her dear, sweet Mattie. Looking at her with those troubled eyes when no one else could reach her. How could she have let her down like that? How—

  The low rumble of a motorboat engine penetrated her thoughts. Startled, she looked up as the red bow light of a boat moved slowly toward her dock in the darkness. For a split second, she didn't move, too shocked by the sudden flashback to the night eight years ago when Preston Hayes, the out-of-town summer resident she'd had a crush on for years, had picked her up at the town dock on their first date, sweeping her off for a night on an island that had cemented her as his.

  "Emma?" Harlan's low voice drifted over the water, and sudden electricity flooded her.

  She lurched to her feet, her heart hammering as she saw his broad silhouette guiding the boat right toward her.

  * * *

  She was like an angel in the night.

  Harlan couldn't take his gaze off Emma as he cut the engine, letting his boat drift in toward her dock. He'd been out for one last tour of the lake, one last night to remember the town that he'd made his home for the last five years. He'd expected to feel relief, but he hadn't. He'd felt strangely melancholy, as if he was leaving before he was supposed to. Instinct had taken him past Emma's small cabin, as he'd done on so many other sleepless nights.

  This time, for the first time in two years, she'd been outside, even though it was past midnight. The way she'd been huddled up in that huge blanket had caught his attention, as if she were a broken bird stranded on land. He hadn't intended to approach. Hadn't planned to say anything. But the boat had drifted right toward her anyway.

  "Harlan?" She grabbed the bow of the boat as it bumped her dock, jerking him back to the present.

  He caught one of the pilings on her dock, anchoring the boat as the blanket slid off her shoulders. In t
he moonlight, he could tell she was wearing a white tank top with straps so thin they looked like they would snap under the faintest breeze. Her black shorts were boldly short, revealing so much more leg than he'd ever seen from the woman who wore long skirts and blue jeans every day of her life, or at least on every day that he'd seen her. Her hair was down, tangled around her shoulders, as if it were caressing the skin she'd so carelessly exposed to the night.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was throaty and raw, and he realized she'd been crying.

  "Couldn't sleep." He leaned on the piling, not daring to get out of the boat, not when the need to play the hero was pulsing through him so strongly. All he could think of was folding her into his arms and chasing away the demons haunting her. "You?"

  "Same." She hugged herself, her huge eyes searching his. The moonlight cast dark shadows on her face, hollowing out her eyes and her cheeks.

  "Want a ride?" He asked the question without intending to, but found himself holding his breath while it sat in the air, waiting for her response.

  "To where?"

  He shrugged. "Nowhere. I'm just driving."

  She looked back at her cabin. "I was just—"

  "Crying. I know. Going back inside will help, do you think? Or maybe getting the hell away from life for twenty minutes would be better?"

  Defiance flared in her eyes, and her shoulders seemed to lift. Without a word, she grabbed the corner of his windshield and set her bare foot on the edge of his boat. Silently, he held out his hand to the woman he'd never touched in all the years he'd known her, except for last night. She met his gaze, and then set her hand in his.

  Jesus. Her skin was like the softest silk, decadent in its fragility, tempting in its strength. He closed his fingers around hers and helped her into his boat. Her hip slid against his side as she stepped in, and electricity sizzled through him.

  She caught her breath, glancing at him as she moved away to sit in the passenger seat.

  Harlan said nothing. He had no idea what to say. Not to her. Not to this woman. Not in this moment. So, instead, he restarted the boat, backed up until he was clear of her dock, and then unleashed the throttle. The boat leapt forward, slicing through the water with a boldness that was probably irresponsible in the dark.

  But he knew the lake, every inch of it, and the moonlight was bright enough to guide him.

  He didn't feel like being careful. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted wind. He wanted water. He wanted freedom. And he wanted the woman sitting in his boat.

  * * *

  Harlan cruised the lake for almost an hour.

  They didn't speak, for which Emma was grateful. She had no idea what to say to him, to this man that she'd seen around town for years, but never actually had a conversation with until last night. She knew a little about him from Astrid, knew that he'd come to Astrid's aid when she'd had no one else to help her, but even Astrid had never been able to unlock the secrets of her brother.

  For a long while, Emma stopped thinking about anything. She just closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat, letting the wind whip at her. Though it was a warm night, it was chilly in the boat, but she didn't feel like stopping. There was just something liberating about being out on the water, nowhere near land, with nothing but a broad expanse of black sky and white stars above her head.

  Eventually, however, she could not resist a peek at the man standing beside her. Harlan was standing up, one hand on the steering wheel, one arm draped over the windshield. The wind was whipping his dark hair, and his white tee shirt was flapping against his steel-hard body. There was no fat on him, just raw, solid muscle, as if he were a machine that had been created for physical labor. His jaw was hard as he scanned the lake, his face stoic and impassive. There was nothing soft about him, nothing approachable, but she didn't feel scared with him.

  Maybe it was because she'd seen the turmoil in his eyes the night before, the humanity that was beneath his cool exterior.

  He turned his head to look at her, and awareness leapt through her as she met his intense gaze. Without a word, he pulled back on the gearshift, and the boat slowed instantly, sinking into the water as it eased to a stop. He cut the engine, and there was no sound except the gentle lapping of the water against the hull.

  Around them was nothing but water. Further away were the dark shadows of the wooded shoreline. During the day, houses would be visible dotting the shore, but at this hour, it was just blackness, with only an occasional outdoor light glistening in the dark. It was early July, and the summer residents were descending upon the town, opening up their houses and filling the region with energy.

  But right there, on the lake, it was just the two of them.

  "Why were you crying?" Harlan asked, without preamble, without any of the delicate tact that a person was supposed to have.

  Weirdly, she wasn't offended. It was almost a relief not to have to pretend. Out here, in the darkness, it seemed like reality was so far away. She felt as if secrets that were whispered would disappear into the night, never to haunt the day. "Because I was sad."

  "Why were you sad?" He was still standing at the wheel, one arm draped over the windshield, but he was watching her intently, so focused she could feel the heat of his gaze on her.

  "Just a lot of stuff coming down on me at the same time." She shrugged, not wanting to rehash details that would just make her cry again.

  "Tell me one of them."

  She sighed, his insistence almost a relief. She didn't know how to bring someone else into her struggles, but somehow, he made it easier. "Because I was officially divorced yesterday."

  He looked away, staring across the lake. "You loved him." His voice was flat.

  "I once did, until I realized that he was a manipulative bastard."

  He turned his head toward her again. "Did he hurt you?"

  "Physically?"

  He nodded once. "Yeah."

  "A little."

  His jaw ticked, and he looked across the lake again. "Do you know what that makes me want to do?"

  She watched his grip tighten around the wheel. "What?"

  "Kill him."

  Emma started to smile, then realized he wasn't kidding. She stared at him. "You're serious."

  "Yeah."

  Weird emotions swirled through her, including an inappropriate rush of excitement that this man, this intensely potent man, would actually want to come to her defense. At the same time, there was a ripple of wariness that he could actually even conceive of killing another person, and then admit it so calmly. Preston had been like that, hiding his true self behind a display of glitz, charm, and wealth. Not that Harlan was glitzy, or even charming. But he didn't exactly have a tattoo on his chest that announced that killing people was his first reaction to hearing about a bastard ex-husband.

  He said nothing for another moment, and neither did she. Finally, she spoke, "Have you killed people?" The moment the question was out, she was horrified. What kind of question was that? It was rude, and, if by some horrible twist of fate, the answer was yes, she did not want to know that while she was stranded on a boat with him.

  Harlan didn't respond, and a cold chill burrowed into Emma's bones. She began to shiver, and she knew it wasn't from just the temperature of the air. "I think it's time to go back—"

  "I have skills," Harlan said quietly, keeping his attention focused on the distant shoreline. "Useful skills. People pay me to do things."

  A cold draft of foreboding began to pulse at her. "What kinds of things?"

  He finally turned his head to look at her. His eyes were dark and inscrutable. "Tell me a secret, Emma. Something dark. Something terrible. Something that you've never told anyone else."

  Her heart began to pound. "I don't—"

  He sat down suddenly on the driver's seat, facing her. His knees went on either side of hers, and he leaned forward, taking her hands in his, his gaze searching hers. "People get kidnapped," he said. "Paying a ransom isn't always the right cho
ice. I go find them. I get them out. I bring them home. Sometimes I fail. Sometimes I shoot people. Sometimes I get shot. At some point, I'm not going to walk away alive."

  She stared at him, her heart pounding in her throat. His hands were tight around hers, like a vice. He was so intense in his body language, crowding her space with his size and strength. It was intoxicating, even though she knew she should probably be afraid. But she wasn't. She actually wanted to scoot forward in her own seat and get closer to him, as if his intensity was calling to her, igniting her own emotions. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because someone has to know." He leaned closer, his shoulders bunched. "Someone needs to know when I don't come back. Someone has to miss me."

  She swallowed. "Astrid—"

  "—has finally found peace after a life of hell," he said. "I won't bring this to her plate."

  Emma had a sudden sense that he'd never told anyone, ever, what he was telling her now. "Why me? Why now?"

  "Because I need to." He slid his hand behind her neck, pulling her so close that his face was against hers, his cheek just barely brushing against hers.

  "Oh." She closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. "That's where you're going tomorrow? On a mission? That might kill you?" The words caught in her throat, and unexpected grief seemed to surge through her.

  "I have a feeling," he said quietly.

  "Then don't go." She pulled her hand free of his and gripped the front of his shirt. "Then don't do it."

  He didn't look away, didn't back off. "It's the only thing I do."

  "You're a real estate agent. You're a brother. An uncle—"

  "No." He wrapped his hand around her fist, holding her hand to his chest. The heat from his skin seemed to burn right through his shirt, searing her palm. She tore her gaze off his chest and looked at him. There was such haunting agony in his eyes, such tormented isolation, that she felt her own heart break for him.

  He didn't belong in this world, in this small town, just as how she always felt she didn't fit into her life either. She had tried to be the good wife and failed. She knew what it was like. She understood him.